Only Human
by Celyia
Summary: ON INDEFINITE HOLD- Take one lovesick vampire, add an annoyed Slayer, a whining Key, and throw a moronic assassin in the mix and voila! Pure chaos! Season 5 spoilers.
1. Chapter One

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter One**   


The woman paused in front of him, a look of annoyance flashing behind those beautiful, but vacuous brown eyes. 

"Naughty," she purred suddenly. "Shh..." The silence screamed with tension as she continued to regard him with those incredible eyes. "You needn't make up stories. I already know why you aren't coming. Tin soldiers put funny little knickknacks in your brain. Can't hunt. Can't hurt. Can't kill. You've got a chip..." 

His dead heart seemed to fall to his feet as he pushed himself up out of the chair and away from his former lover. How the mighty have fallen, he thought ironically as he turned his back to her. How I've fallen. 

"Right," Spike spat as he looked to the wall, "so you've heard. Poor Spike's become a cautionary tale for vampires. Better be good, kiddies, or else they might wire you up someday." 

Drusilla smiled slightly at the outburst of temper. Her brown eyes were strangely innocent as she stood before the rampaging vampire, almost as if his anger were nothing more than a dissertation on weather patterns. 

"I don't believe in science," she started softly, forcing Spike to look at her. "All those bits and molecules no one's ever seen. I trust eyes and hearts alone. And you know what mine is singing out right now?" 

Spike looked at her blankly, a part of him wondering how his hand seemed to have appeared so magically upon her chest. 

"You're a killer. Born to slash and bash and..." Drusilla gasped out, her thick accent drowning with the panting, "bleed. Like beautiful poetry. No little tinker toy could ever stop you from flying." 

"Yes," he looked at her sadly, his heart filling with despair as her words tore at him. Spike looked into those mesmerising eyes, praying to whomever would listen to a godforsaken vampire that his former lover would understand and stop tormenting with her visions of his old life. "But the pain, luv, you don't understand. It's... it's searing, so blinding..." 

Gentle fingers suddenly danced over his scalp as he begged those same powers that be for the strength not to show more weakness before this graceful lioness. 

"All in your head. I can see it...little bits of plastic spiderwebbing nasty blue shocks. And every one is a lie," she murmured softly, her unique voice echoing through the darkened room. "Electricity lies, Spike. It tells you that you're not a bad dog, but you are." 

He inhaled deeply, his self-control nearly lost as his mind processed her seductive words. Electricity lies, he repeated silently as he looked upon his black queen's face. She was truly beautiful in her evil, he thought as his face suddenly gained a will of its own and transformed. Purring softly as he teased her neck with his fangs, he considered killing her where she stood so he could keep this beautiful image in his mind forever unchanged. 

"What the hell is this?" a new voice interrupted suddenly, the rage evident in the sharp tones. 

"Bloody hell," he cursed under his breath as he brought his eyes up to look at the newcomer. His hands began to tremble as the Slayer's bright blue eyes looked at him in undisguised revulsion. "Bloody hell," he repeated as he willed his face back to the human visage. 

Soft, full lips were drawn tightly together as she continued to regard the heartbroken vampire. 

"Buffy..." he started uncertainly, a part of him wishing to truly die as he felt the force her full disgust. 

"I want you out. I want you out of this town, I want you off this planet. You don't come near me, my friends, or my family again. Ever," Buffy raised her chin as she stared penetratingly at him. "I hate you, Spike. I hate you." 

And looking into her beautiful eyes, he suddenly knew that the woman he loved with all his heart meant every single word.   
  


Spike suddenly sat up in his bed, his body shaking as he tried to expel the horrible nightmare from his mind. Lowering his head into his palms, he choked on his unrelenting tears as he finally admitted to himself that she could never love him back.   
  


* * *

  
  


She sighed deeply as she slowly raised her head from the sanctuary of her cupped hands and looked around her room. It had been a long day, she thought as sat in her room clothed only in her undergarments. Buffy rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, content to sit motionless for a few moments longer. 

"Bastard," she grumbled as she suddenly pulled on a pair of sweats. "That undead bastard," Buffy repeated with a little more force as she pushed herself to her feet. She stalked off to her vanity, only to sigh in frustration as she noticed the dark circles under her puffy, red eyes. "Bloody bastard." 

Barely restraining herself from shattering the mirror, she began to roughly brush her hair. 

"The nerve. Good god, telling me he's in love with me? What kind of undead moron is he?" Buffy complained to her distraught reflection. "I can't believe he had the gall to compare himself to Angel. Like, hello, Mr Evil. Angel has a soul. You. Freaking. Don't. And even if you did, I still could never love you back. Stupid bastard. I should really stake you." 

Scowling angrily, she threw the brush to the floor. "But I can't stake you. You are a major pain in the ass, but no can do. It's not like you can hurt anyone anymore. I can't kill you as long as you are defenseless. Bloody evil bastard." 

"Buffy? Is everything okay in there?" a soft mezzo-soprano called out, her voice uncomfortably close to the door. 

"Yeah, Mom. Sorry. Just dropped my brush," she lied quickly, bending over to pick up the item from the ground. 

"Well, okay," Joyce's voice resounded through the door, her tones betraying her worry for her daughter. 

"Really, Mom," Buffy crossed to the other side of the room and opened the door. Smiling uneasily at her mother, she gestured for her to come in. 

Joyce cocked her head at her daughter, light brown curls dancing to the side as she looked intently at her child's face. 

"You've been crying," Joyce said blandly as she took a seat upon the unmade bed. 

Buffy frowned as she reexamined her face in the mirror. There seemed to be lines about her eyes that hadn't been there just yesterday. She looked dreadful, but she had the small consolation of being able to blame, this too, on Spike. 

"Maybe a little," Buffy admitted as she quickly knotted her hair into an impromptu bun. 

Joyce nodded as she waited for her daughter to turn back and face her mother. 

"I hate him," Buffy blurted suddenly as she threw herself down on the springy mattress. She closed her eyes as she listened to the fading squeaks of the springs, seemingly content to keep silent. 

"I cant believe I was so stupid, Mom. I could have gotten you or Dawn killed. Good god, I can't believe I actually trusted him to protect you from Glory. What the hell was I thinking?" The words came out in a torrent rush, her voice shaking as she squeezed her eyelids tightly together. "He's a bloody vampire. Not just that. He's a _soulless_ one. He'd kill you or Dawn in a second if he thought that would get him closer to me. The bastard." 

Joyce frowned as she watched her oldest child slowly sit up, her lower lip quivering from bound emotion. "Buffy, he can't kill..." 

"He's a vampire, Mom," Buffy corrected, her tone much harsher than she intended. She opened her eyes only to see her mother's worried expression. "He's a vampire. Killing is what he does." 

Joyce remained silent, her hazel eyes trained on her daughter's pale, tense features. 

"I don't know what I was thinking. I gotta wonder. Maybe I'm just as big of a moron as he is," Buffy snorted harshly, her long fingers working at the ties on her sweatpants. "When Glory came here, Mom, I freaked. I mean, she kicks my ass without even trying while I've been giving it all I got." 

Buffy sighed as she leaned her head upon her mother's shoulder. Joyce began to stroke her daughter's back comfortingly. 

"I can't handle the idea that she's going to go after you two. And I know she will. She's like that...." 

"Buffy," Joyce interrupted, her voice firm but sweet. "but you've kept us safe. With all things considered, you've done an amazing job protecting us." 

"But how long will it last, Mom? I can't be here 24/7, no matter how much I want to be. At least, before, I could get Spike to help. I mean, he's a jerk, but he's really the only one strong enough not to be killed instantly by the hellbitch," Buffy collapsed against her mother's side, her voice unsteady from the unshed tears. 

She hugged her daughter tightly to her chest, murmuring soft words of comfort into the blonde hair. Joyce closed her eyes in sympathetic pain as she realised exactly what her daughter had lost when Spike decided to confess his love: the only person whose skills Buffy had trusted enough to take some of the burden of being the Slayer off her shoulders. And now, all the stress had returned to haunt the young woman with a vengeance as she was facing a creature more powerful than even her great talents. 

"Mom," the Chosen One ventured uncertainly as she looked up from the embrace with shimmering eyes, "how do I keep you safe now?"   



	2. Chapter Two

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Two **   


The man stood silently in the shade of the trees, an intent look creasing his weathered, handsome face as he carefully watched the young girl leaning against the oak at the entrance to the playground. She seemed to be so very innocent, he thought solemnly, it was truly amazing the forms evil could take. 

A little boy ran by him, kicking sand upon his freshly pressed pants. 

"Hail the Creator!" he cursed under his breath as he frantically tried to brush the dusty particles off, earning him an odd look from the mother of the kid. She seemed taken slightly aback at his presence in the nearly childless playground, a plucked and redrawn eyebrow raised curiously as she slowly pulled a cellular phone from her purse. 

Pointedly, she opened the object and punched in three numbers, all the while, her eyes focused on him as she memorized his description. 

Samson couldn't help but crack a slight smile as the 911 operator placed the mother on hold. Only in California, he thought. 

The mother rolled her eyes to the heavens as she waited with an increasingly nervousness, her tanned hand tugging gracelessly on her son's wrist. 

With a comforting smile, Samson reached into an interior pocket of his beige duster, his blue eyes seeming to dance as he regarded the petite woman. 

He shrugged his broad shoulders, sparing a glance for the girl who he had followed to the park. She continued to be utterly oblivious to the world, Samson noted with no small amount of pleasure. His grin widened as he walked up to the mother on the phone. 

"Just hold up," the woman snapped out as she gauged his intentions. "Don't you dare come a step closer." 

"I'm sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you've seen my daughter," he lied quickly, his narrow face twisting into a grimace of pain and sorrow. "She's been missing for a year now." 

The woman seemed to soften at his words, her dark eyes turning to her son. 

"Missing?" she repeated sadly. "Oh, man. I'm so sorry." 

Samson nodded slowly, trying to shy off the guilt as he felt the woman's empathy. The end justifies the means, he reminded himself sternly. And the ends in this case, he thought as he studied the woman's features, is preserving life as we know it. 

"Here, this is what she looks like..." he raised his palm to her as if his hand contained the world's most precious object. 

"Nathan, go off and play now," she told her son as she hung up her phone, pausing only to stuff it in her purse. The mother bent slightly over his hand as she waited. 

Samson sighed longingly as he watched the child quickly abandon his mother for the pleasure of the playground. This acting stuff, he thought in amusement, wasn't half bad. 

The woman cocked her head curiously. 

Slowly, he unfurled his hand, uncovering the small, feathered item in his grasp. 

"A dart? What kind of joke is this?" she grumbled, taking an immediate step back. 

Fun while it lasted, he thought as he slammed it into the jugular vein in the woman's neck. "One that's over." 

She clawed at her throat, scratching the tender skin with sharpened nails. The woman looked at him with such an expression of anger and terror that Samson had to bite back a laugh before he drew even more attention to himself and the subject of his covert operation. 

"It's okay, lady," Samson stated smoothly as he reclaimed the dart. "You were just stung by a sand bee." 

"A sand bee?" she asked quietly, a glazed look coming into her eyes. "Nathan..." she managed to squeak out. The young boy barely spared a glance for his mother before he started climbing up the base of the slide. 

"A sand bee. But thank you for your help, ma'am. I'm just going to be standing right over there while I wait for my daughter to get done playing. You see her?" he asked softly, pointing to a spot on the playground. "She's playing in the sand right there." 

"The sand," she repeated dully, her eyes unseeing. 

"You see my daughter sitting right there," he repeated firmly. "Isn't she a pretty little thing?" 

"A pretty little thing," the mother seemed to agree, waving at the empty area. Her face firmed up as her awareness slowly began to return. "Yes, she's just darling. Just like my Nathan." 

Samson laughed in genuine amusement. The woman was just a beacon of maternal pride even while under the influence of the drugs. "Yeah, just like your Nathan. Speaking of Nathan, why don't you spend some quality time with him? You know. Like play or something." 

The woman nodded eagerly. "Actually, that's a great idea. Thanks for the help. With the bee sting and all," she smiled at him brightly. "Oh, what is your name anyway? I'm Jillian." 

He extended his hand to meet hers, winking at her playfully. "Samson. Now off with you! Nathan is waiting!" 

She giggled girlishly as she ran off to meet her son, shouting a dare to see who could climb to the top of the slide first. 

Samson stood quietly, his arms folded over his chest as he watched the mother play with her son as if she were a child herself. So this is what I've given my life to save, he thought, feeling not a whit of regret. This is exactly what I've given my life to save. 

He shook his head suddenly as he turned to look back to his quarry. 

"Hail the Creator!" he gasped aloud as he noticed the girl had left during his conversation with the mother. He can't fail. Not at this. Shoving the dart back into a pocket, he ran out of the playground as he began his search for his prey. 

Jillian stood aghast as she watched Samson's daughter burst into tears at the abrupt departure of her father. 

"Oh, sweetheart. He'll be back. I promise you," she assured the young girl, reaching her arms out to hold the child comfortingly. The girl hugged her tightly, almost as if she were afraid to let go. 

"Shhh... shhh... It's okay now. It's okay. We'll just sit here and wait for your daddy to come back. Okay?" Jillian asked, brushing the dyed red hair out of her eyes as she looked towards the playground gate. 

The little girl sniffled, but her crying soon ceased. 

"That's my brave little girl," she cooed softly, licking a handkerchief and wiping the child's dirty nose with it. "Very brave. Sit down and play with Nathan for a little bit, okay? Wait here... NATHAN!" she yelled at her son suddenly. "Come here and meet a new friend." 

Nathan looked at the spot of sand his mother gestured to, his precocious face peering at her strangely from his throne at the top of the playground's tallest slide. "Mom, *who* are you talking to?"   
  


* * *

  
  


Dawn kicked at the offending rock as hard as she could, her teeth grinding in annoyance as she watched the stone fly only a couple feet away. 

"Dumb Buffy," she complained, digging the scuffed toe of her sneaker deep into the moist dirt. "Buffy this, Buffy that. The whole..." Dawn grumbled for a second as her mind searched for the appropriate obscenity, "bloody town seems to think she's Miss Wonderful or something. Bleh. They should try living with her." 

She frowned fiercely, dabbing angrily at her eyes as she continued walking down Main Street, completely oblivious to the man doing a terrible job of following surreptitiously behind her. 

"Like, hello. I only wanted to see if she was okay," Dawn complained to the cracked sidewalk. Sighing, she leaned against the side of a building as the morning replayed itself before her eyes. 

It's not often she's seen Buffy cry. Truly cry, Dawn corrected herself, not like the wussy girl crying she did when Angel and Riley both left. But it was hard listening to those panicked pants and wheezes as Buffy leaned on their mother's thin shoulder, a part of her nearly losing it herself as she wondered what would happen if Buffy ever broke down. 

As if that could happen, Dawn thought as she continued walking again. I don't think it could happen, she frowned, mentally crossing her fingers. But nonetheless, alarms went off in her head as she heard Buffy weeping in her room. She had stood outside the door uncertainly, a part of her wishing for the courage to enter. Yet the moment she had crossed the threshhold, her mother.. her *mother* of all people! waved her gently away. 

Here they had been going off about how much Dawn is a part of the family, about how much she is really a Summers girl, no matter what her origin. And the second anything bad happens, she gets waved away. 

"That's such BS," Dawn grumbled angrily as she pushed the rejection out of her head. Sighing, she stood at the entrance to the cemetary. She smiled slightly as her eyes came across Spike's crypt. 

"Such BS," she repeated again as she took a hesitant step towards the ancient stone chamber. Dawn folded her arms defiantly over her chest as she glanced back to the entrance of the cemetary. She would be murdered if Buffy or Mom caught her here, again. Especially after that oh-so-thrilling "Spike Is Evil. Stay Away From Spike" lecture she got at length the other night. 

"It's not like they want me around anyway," Dawn told herself firmly as she took another step to the crypt. "After all, Mom told me to leave them alone. So what's wrong with going where someone actually *likes* my company?" 

She readjusted her small backpack nervously as she stood at the cracked, moss-covered door. He won't kill me, Dawn reassured herself as she gently pushed on the handle to enter. He can't.   



	3. Chapter Three

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  
Oh, PS! It gets a little silly (can't be gloom and doom *all* the time ;-) so bear with me, eh? :-)   
  


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**Chapter Three **   
  
  
Joyce stood silently before the mirror, her eyes tracing over the golden curves which caressed the edges of the polished silver. It was a beautiful, if useful, piece, that Joyce had lugged around with her everywhere since the time she had inherited it from her grandmother when she was 28. 

She straightened the mirror, smiling slightly as she looked at her reflection. It was a difficult task to find mirrors made out of polished silver nowadays, for the common glass/aluminium mixture was a lot easier to upkeep and much cheaper. But there was something about this silver and gold treasure that went beyond mere reflections and hit her very soul. She loved this piece, she always had. 

Almost shyly, she touched the gold filagree with the tip of a finger. This mirror had seen so very much in its centuries of existence. In fact, it even had a place in the family legends. 

Chuckling as she remembered the fantastic tale, she sat down in the beige executive chair in her office. One day soon, she should really tell Buffy and Dawn the tale. It had always hurt her feelings that the girls had long considered the mirror a hunk of junk, but perhaps the tale may change their minds. After all, her children's lives seemed to be one incredible legend after another. 

Joyce frowned, her eyes darting to her bitten fingernails. The nailbiting was a new habit she had recently acquired when she found out her beloved youngest was supposedly nothing more than a mystical key. She trusted Buffy's judgement implicitly, but a part of her was convinced her daughter was mistaken. She must be. Dawn was her *daughter* and nothing could change it. Not her, not Buffy, and certainly not this Glory woman who currently insisted on making life a living hell. 

No, Dawn was as her daughter, just like Buffy. And time would prove me right, Joyce told herself firmly as she picked up the typed inventory from her desk. Time will prove me right.   
  


* * *

  
  


Upending the bottle of bourbon high into the air, Spike's mouth gaped open as a rush of pale liquid poured directly to his throat. Alcohol splattered all over his face, only to collect in small streams which trickled down the pronounced angles of his cheekbones. 

Dawn stood in the shadows, the door shut tightly behind her as she watched the vampire slowly fall to the chair beneath him. He leaned his head back dully, his hand holding the bottle in a deathgrip. A brown eyebrow shot up as she realised the vampire was purring. Loudly. 

"You sing it, chum," he mumbled nearly incoherently as he attempted to raise the bottle to the blaring radio. 

She bit her lip hard to keep the rising giggle from escaping as she watched Spike open his own mouth to sing. 

"You can't hurry love. No, you'll just have to bloody wait," his voice echoed in the crypt, his words slurred and tone offbeat. "Love don't come easy, it's a game of give and take. How long must I wait? How much bloody more must I take, Buffy?" 

Dawn rolled her eyes to the heavens. He's a vampire and all, but still. He needs a life. Big time, she thought as she took a step further in. 

"...before bleeding loneliness causes my h-h-heart to break!" he finished triumphantly, the bottle of alcohol raised high into the air as though he were a perverse Statue of Liberty. 

Statue of Drunkenity, Dawn corrected herself with a snort. 

"Oh, it's my little Nibblet," Spike gave her a huge grin as he turned to face the girl. The look almost made her heart leap out of her chest. "Ya still m'little Nibblet, aren't ya, Nibblet?" he asked as his head fell back seemingly of its own choice. 

"Wow, Spike. Dead drunk. So why am I like *not* surprised," she shot off, her arms folded across her chest as she gave him her most defiant look. 

"Prolly 'cause I'm dead," he muttered slowly, raising the bottle to his lips. "Getting drunk is a feat, though." 

Dawn raised an eyebrow as she perched nonchalantly on the armrest of the maroon recliner. "You seem to accomplish it easily enough." 

"Talent, my little Nibblet. Nooooo circ...curu...no bleedin' heartbeat, remember? Takes a lot of this beau'foo' stuff to affect..." 

"Such a lovely thing to brag about," Dawn mocked him, barely hiding the blush as he gave her a winning smile. 

"Bloody right. I knew I liked ya, Nibblet." 

She coughed suddenly, wishing he meant it. 

"Big Sister know you're here?" he asked suddenly, not sounding quite as drunk as he did moments before. 

"Big Sister," Dawn snapped the words off with as much venom as she could, "is too busy wih her own dumb life to care." 

"Well, that's a no," he chuckled. "She's not gonna like you hanging out with the Big Bad." 

Dawn shrugged her shoulders. "Only if she finds out." 

Spike grinned ferally as he pushed himself up in the chair to look straight into the teenager's eyes. "Why, aren't you the Bitty Bad." 

She couldn't help but return the grin. Those smiles of his were infectious. "Bigger than you." 

"Ambitious lil bit, aren't you?" 

"Is there any way else to be?" 

"Nothing as interesting, Nibblet," Spike admitted as he took another swig of the alcohol. "So, Bitty Bad, you gonna keep me company?" 

She tossed her head haughtily as she appraised the vampire with a narrowed eye. "Oh, I have nothing better to do than watch some kitteny dead guy get drunk off his ass," she huffed sarcastically, carefully watching his reaction to her words. 

Spike coughed into his hand as he shot an amused look towards the girl. "I didn't realise you made a habit of watching us kitteny dead guys..." he coughed again as he met her eyes, "...get drunk off of our bums." 

Dawn flicked her hair over her shoulder cockily as she took a step closer to the vampire. Her hand hardly trembled at all as she reached for the bottle of bourbon. 

"You sure, Nibblet?" he asked, a brown eyebrow cocked high as he regarded her. 

"Just. Give. Me. The. Bloody. Thing." she demanded, her lower lip thrust out into a pout as she watched him think about it. He wouldn't hesitate if it were Buffy asking, she grumbled to herself. 

He laughed suddenly, thrusting the bottle into her hands. "If Joyce asks, you did *not* get it from me." 

Dawn flashed him her most flirtatious smile as she crossed mental fingers. "Now, why would Mom ask me when I'm going to be staying here with you?" 

"Yeah. 'Zactly" he agreed amiably as he settled back in his chair. A moment passed before he shot straight up, his eyes focused on her. "Waitaminute. Run that by me again?" 

* * *

  
  


Samson frowned as he lowered his ear to the lower portion of the door. Not a single coherent word dare breech the prison of stone, although he could hear mumblings just beyond. He closed his eyes as he concentrated on seperating the flowing noises into distinct words. 

Grunting, he tugged at the hem of his duster. It just wouldn't come to him. He couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. With a fatalistic sigh, Samson leaned heavily against the crypt door as he gave up. 

"No! Absolutely NOT!" the demon beyond the door shouted suddenly. 

Samson started as the words echoed clearly in his ears. With a grin, he turned his ear back to the door only to find that he had pushed it open an inch when he had leaned his head against the cool mass. He squinted as he peered into the darkened room. The demon stood over the girl, his face twisted and disfigured by his inherent evil. 

The girl looked positively unconcerned by the demon's outburst, almost as if it were an everyday thing. Samson frowned as he watched the scene, his heart pounding as the little girl rolled her eyes to the heavens. 

"It'd be fun," she smiled, a distinctly mischievous look coming into her eyes. "What? Is wittle little Big Bad scared?" 

"Am not!" the vampire answered quickly, his face suddenly returning to human form. 

"Are too." 

"I am not!" 

"I don't know. You could have fooled me, Spike," she shot out cockily, not looking threatened one bit as the vampire stood above her. A small grin pulled at her lips as she muttered "Wuss." 

"Oh, please! I can't believe I'm being badgered by the Slayer's little bite of a sister! What did I ever do to deserve this?" the blond demon complained, throwing himself into the recliner as he grabbed for a bottle of alcohol. Samson wrinkled his brow in thought. He had never see a vampire act quite like this before. 

"You're evil. What *didn't* you do to deserve it?" the girl asked nonchalantly, the brown straggles of hair framing her pretty face as she looked at the vampire triumphantly. 

"Doesn't mean you gotta make a bloke's life a living hell, ducks," the vampire muttered as he wiped his lips free of alcohol with the back of his hand. He grunted as he banged his head against the stone repeatedly. "Your sister is going to kill me." 

"She was planning to anyway," the girl smiled sweetly. "Especially after that little Drusilla thing. Little hint, Spike... you usually get further with a girl when you don't threaten to let the ex eat her." 

Spike sighed fatalistically as he mumbled against the coffin lid. "Now you tell me," he growled sarcastically. 

The girl laughed, evidentally enjoying the demon's discomfort. Samson pursed his lips as he considered the confusing scene before him. He wasn't sure who was more evil: the human girl or the vampire. Tough call. 

"What were you thinking, by the way? I mean, of all the dumb things I've ever heard..." 

"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in, Nibblet." 

She smirked haughtily. "I was planning to." 

The vampire leaned against his fists, frowning ferociously. "I don't know what I was thinking, really. Just that I was so tired of it. I just wanted the games to stop. That's all." 

"Brilliant move, Einstein." 

"I'm only human, born to make mistakes," the vampire sung suddenly, his voice low and depressed. 

"Oh, no. You aren't going to sing again, are you?" the girl asked as she hopped up on a small coffin. 

The vampire looked clearly disgruntled. "What's wrong with that?" 

"Puh-leeese. You can't sing, Spike. Give it up!" 

Spike snorted as he glared at the girl. "I can too." 

"Can not!" 

"Can too!" 

Samson sighed wearily as he rested his head against the door. Something told him this was going to be a very, very long night.   



	4. Chapter Four

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Four **   
  
"Just let me change, first," Buffy started running up the stairs, holding her orange and white plaid skirt modestly down as she took two steps at a time. "She's probably just at Jackie's house or something." 

Joyce frowned as she leaned against the wooden banister. "She's not like this. Where _is_ she?" 

Buffy paused at the top of the stairs, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. "Undoubtedly having a merry time without us. I'll check Jackie's- after I change -then I'm gonna meet the guys at the Bronze tonight. Don't worry. I'll send her straight home." 

"Before you do that, maybe you should get them to look for her," Joyce hinted forcefully. 

The girl sighed as she pulled her arms inside her sweater, effectively shrouding her torso in a cocoon of polyster and fleece. "Okay. Like compromise time. If I can't find the brat in a couple of minutes, I'll set the hounds a sniffin'. How's that?" 

Joyce nodded slowly, her eyes filled with relief. "That I can agree to. And don't talk about your sister like that." 

"Mom," Buffy moaned as she shrugged out of the sweater and into a slinky purple top. "But come on! She could have taken like two seconds to call you or something..." 

"Exactly why I'm worried. Please go now?" 

"Gimme a second to throw on some jeans..." 

Buffy heard a loud sigh as the front door creaked open. 

"That's okay. I'll do it myself. You go play with your friends," Joyce's light voice took on a distinct martyristic edge. "How do I use one of these stake things again?" 

"Mooooooom! Geesh. Evil Emotional-Blackmail Mommy," Buffy breathed grumpily as she stomped down the stairs, her miniskirt flying up with each exasperated step. "It's not even dark yet!" 

Joyce looked at her daughter with wide, innocent eyes. 

"Oh, I don't know, Buffy. It looks pretty dark." 

Buffy rolled her eyes as she pushed back the sleeves on her top. "In about 2 more hours, anyway. Geesh, Mom. My clothes don't even *match*!" the girl complained as she stepped out the front door. 

"Your sister won't mind. Speaking of Dawn, Xander will help you. So will the girls..." 

"Mom, it's okay. I'll find Dawn," Buffy smoothed her skirt down as she thanked whatever gods were listening that Cordelia lived in LA now. An orange skirt and purple top. She would have never heard the end of it. 

"While you are at it, why don't you ask Spike to help you look? I know he's been... ah... difficult lately, but he's always been good at help..." 

"Mom!" Buffy sputtered suddenly. "I don't NEED Spike to find my sister for me!" 

"I know, sweetheart. But ask him anyway." 

"Mother!" she groaned as she turned to the empty street. "Erk. I'll be back in a few minutes. With Dawn. And without Spike's help!"   
  


* * *

  
  


He tapped his meticulously manicured nails along the case of the cellular phone, his lips pulled into a frown as he contemplated the thing. With a shake of his head, Samson turned the ringer to vibrate, thanking the Creator that the high-pitched buzzing a few minutes before hadn't alerted his quarry to his presence. 

Sighing as he leaned back against the door carefully, Samson shoved the tiny phone into the interior pocket of his duster. He peered inside the crypt, frowning as he noted that the human girl was still in there and seemed to have no intention of leaving anytime soon. 

It wasn't supposed to be like this, he grumbled as he pulled out the complimentary British Airways deck of cards from a pocket. Ten hours, Samson thought as he pulled the deck free of the shrink-wrap, ten hours squished into a seat that's hardly big enough for a doll (much less a grown man), only to end up sitting more in a cemetery listening to some vacuous conversation. 

This was his golden opportunity to show the others the stuff from which he was made. Hell, this was his chance to *shine*. The fate of the world very well rested in his hands. And instead of anything good happening, he was stuck watching some self-absorbed brat flirt rather shamelessly with a member of the Undead Society. He crumbled the wrapping into a small ball and threw it at an empty vase at the base of a worn headstone. Missed. 

"Hail the Creator," he cursed softly as he looked down at the cards, his long fair hair waving in movement.. With a shrug, he carefully aimed for the lip of the vase. "Going to the bloody dentist is more intriguing," he muttered beneath his breath as he tossed a card. Missed again. 

Samson glared at the vase, his light eyes flashing with irritation. Carefully, he extended the next card, lining it up the best he could. He flicked his wrist, only to groan softly as the card bounced off the side of the vase. He wrinkled his nose as he readied the next one. He'd get it this time, Samson promised himself as he took careful aim. With a steadiness in his hand and intent look in his fair eyes that were more befitting to a surgery room than a cemetery, he cocked his wrist back and tossed.   
  


* * *

  
  


Dawn leaned her head back, watching the tiny spider with undisguised interest as it swung back and forth above her head. 

"Da itsy bitsy spider climbed up t-the water s-spout!" she burst into song, her fingers twitting and fluttering in time to the song. "Down came the rain and ***SPLUUUSH***! washed the poor damn s-spider out. Well, ain't that just sad?" 

"So true. Sing it, sister," Spike encouraged, a brand new bottle of bourbon pressed to his lips as he watched the young girl giggle. 

The Key waggled her eyebrows exaggeratingly as the spider drooped from its loft at the ceiling. "Say, Spike. Where d-da h-hide the spool...? 

Spike blinked slowly, trying to focus on the girl. "Spool, pet?" 

Dawn giggled suddenly, her face red as she covered her mouth with a pale hand. "You called me 'Pet'. Mreow!" 

"Spool?" he repeated, trying to regain some semblance of intelligence 

Dawn nodded, reaching for the bourbon. "Ya know. Where they hide all that webby stringy stuff. They are sooooo tiny. Where'd'it all go and stuff?" 

He wrinkled his forehead as he considered the question. Where *do* they hide their little spools of thread? Abruptly, he shook his head. If Buffy came in right now, he'd... 

Be dust. Without a doubt. Sighing, he pulled the bourbon out of Dawn's reach. She was a fun little drunkard though, he thought as he recapped the bottle. But really! her song repertoire needed expanding... 

"Heeeeeeeeeey!" the teenager protested grumpily. "I haven't f-finished that one yet." 

"Another time, Bitty Bad," he closed his eyes as he tried to will himself sober. Yeah, right. "Gotta save some of it for your next drunken excursion, ducks." 

"Quack! Quack! QUACK!" she giggled, throwing herself back in the armchair. "Wooooo! The room is m-moving..." 

"It won't move as much if you stay still, Nibblet," he advised sagely, he himself an expert on the subject. Sighing, Spike looked at his nemesis's sister. The girl was pissed off her chair and the second Buffy found out what had happened... "Dawn? Your sister has no clue where you are at, right?" 

"Not that she'd ever care," the girl spit out venomously, her pretty face contorted by pain. "God, they didn't want me there, you know. They never d-do." 

He froze at her words, frowning as he saw the sincerity on her less than alert face. The girl really believed it. 

"Oh?" he prodded softly, uncertain of what to say. 

Dawn nodded emphatically, a torrent of tears pressing at her brown eyes. "I'm so l-lonely," she mumbled, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she turned her gaze to the vampire. 

"She acts like she's all alone or something," the teenager sighed as she leaned against the recliner, the tears falling freely from her eyes. "Like, hello. She doesn't even know what b-being alone *is*. I mean, really. She's got the Scoobies. I mean, they aren't just her friends. They are more than that. They know what she is! And they l-love her anyway. They'd die for her. Yeah, and she has the gall to think she's alone. Really. She has _me_!" 

"Look at me." 

Spike frowned as he considered the girl, the pain in her strong voice tangible even in his moderately intoxicated state. Those brown eyes were filled with an awareness he had rarely seen in all of his existence, yet that awareness was poisoned by the girl's self-loathing. What she had to hate about herself, he really couldn't fathom. She wasn't the vampire here. 

"Really look at me," Dawn commanded softly, her voice strained but certain. "Who do I have? I'm just Buffy's dumb little sister, maybe not even that. I'm not a person to them. Hell, I'm not sure I'm even a person to me. Does she think *I* have my own Scoobies? Does she think for a second that any of my friends love me enough that if they were to even have half a clue of what I am, they'd be there in the morning? Does she know w-what it's like to r-realise that I'm all I've got?" 

His frown deepened as he scooted over to sit next to the girl. Almost timidly, he patted her on the back. He nearly jumped out of his skin, though, when Dawn leaned her head against his shoulder. 

"I'm so tired, Spike. So tired. I hate this," she whispered vehemently. "I hate being like this. I hate being so lonely. I hate being scared of going to sleep at night because I don't know if I'll wake up in the morning. I'm not real. Oh, god. I'm not *real*. How can I feel so much? How can it hurt when it's not really there? When _I_ am not really here. Spike, what's wrong with me? Why me? Why do I feel real when I'm *not*?" 

He pinched her hard on the arm, his face wracked with pain as the chip responded. 

"Ow OW! Thanks much," she grumbled sarcastically as she rubbed the welting mark. "Why did you pinch me?" 

"Don't be a git," he growled as he resumed massaging her back. "If you aren't real, then I guess I really didn't pinch you now, did I?" 

The teenager glared at him as she silently rubbed her arm. 

He held up his fingers, faintly surprised at the shimmer of blood coating his nails. He didn't think he had pinched her that hard. 

"Though it felt real enough to me," he muttered as he brought his fingers to his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. 

"Smells real enough too. I wonder how it would taste..." 

Dawn grabbed at his hand suddenly, her eyes flashing with anger. "Don't you dare!" 

"Why would it bother you, love? If you aren't real and all?" 

The girl frowned as her eyes focused on the blood. Her blood. 

Spike shook his head slowly as he regarded the girl. Gently, he brought his fingertips before her eyes. "This is real enough, Nibblet. How much more real do you want?" 

"I just want..." she started weakly, her voice choked with emotion. "I guess that's why I like you, Spike. You're just like me. We're special, you know," Dawn smiled at him sweetly, her eyes fluttering closed. 

"That we are, pet," he agreed, running his fingers through her hair as her breathing slowed and became deeper. 

"No one else out there like us and for that, we'll always be alone." 

Spike winced involuntarily at her softly spoken words. 

"Or maybe not," she murmured softly. "If I'm the Key, then maybe there's a Lock out there. Just like me." 

A small crash suddenly echoed beyond the door. He looked up curiously, but shrugged as his thoughts turned back to the girl's words. 

Quietly, he stood, pausing only to lay his duster over the sleeping form. No sense in the Nibblet catching her death of pneumonia, he told himself as he walked slowly to the exit. He needed to have a word with the Slayer, whether the twit wanted to hear them or not. 

Anyway, just looking at the woman made him feel less lonely and right now, the loneliness was almost a bit more than he could take. Buffy. There was just something inherently comforting about the fact that someone like *her* could even exist ... 

"Of all the moronic, self-destructive nonsense!" he growled as he pushed the door open. 

He paused in midstep as he realised the door had been left ajar. 

"Silly twit," Spike grumbled as he closed the door tightly behind him. "Gotta speak to the girl about... what's this?" he blinked as he looked at the scattered deck of cards beneath his feet. 

No more than five feet away, lay a shattered vase encircled by a dozen playing cards. Curiously, he knelt before the vase, prodding the crumbled remains with a finger. 

Someone had been there, he realised. And for quite some time, as well. Probably some teenage boys, he decided as he stood slowly. But it wasn't worth the risk. He couldn't leave the girl here. 

Sighing, he nudged the tarnished handle, his eyes darting across the grounds cautiously. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, his long-dead lungs filling with the scents carried in the air. 

Male. Probably early twenties, he decided. 

Some sort of frat hazing? he wondered as he pushed on the door. Stupid gits. They'd do anything for a lager and a lay. His lips quirked into a slight smile as he had to admit he wasn't much different. 

Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye made him stop in his tracks. 

A young man stood confidently just beyond the reach of trees to the west, a homemade crossbow in the man's hands. With a haughty smirk, the man cocked the bolt and aimed it pointedly at the vampire's heart. 

"Oh, bloody hell."   



	5. Chapter Five

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Five **   
  


Spike frowned as he tried to focuse on the face of the man who held the crossbow. The man's narrow nostrils flared with a haughty arrogance as his thin lips curled into a righteous sneer. Good sign, Spike nodded slightly to himself as he tried to subtly push against the crypt's stone door. All he had to do was stay intact long enough to get back inside his crypt and he could flee through the sewers. 

"Oh, bloody hell," he grumbled. Dawn. What was he going to do about the girl? He scanned the face of the Van Helsing wannabe. The man didn't seem the type to hurt a young girl, Spike assured himself as he leaned harder on the door. He could leave her... 

"Where is the girl? Speak now, Demon, and I'll make your passing quick and merciful," the man took a step forward, his eyes alert. 

So much for that bit of wishful thinking. 

"What? Not gonna lie and say you'll spare me if I sing, will you?" Spike snorted sarcastically as he folded his arms across his chest, hoping he'd lure the hunter into a false sense of security. On the count of three, he told himself as he felt the door begin to give way. 

The man looked completely confused as he considered the vampire. 

"But you are evil." 

"It's a hobby," Spike shrugged indifferently. 

One. 

"So, are you going to tell me the name of my murderer?" Spike nearly smiled in relief as he saw the pride evident on the young man's face. The bigger the ego is, the easy they are to trip. 

"Samson." 

Two. 

"Just Samson?" 

Samson frowned as he considered the thought carefully. So busy thinking, Spike noticed, that his itchy trigger finger didn't seem to be trembling as much anymore. 

"Samson Gulliver, Esquire," the man spoke warily, the words barely flowing through the gritted teeth. 

Three-- 

The vampire never knew what went wrong. Perhaps his body had visibly tensed, or maybe his face gave it all away, but the next thing he knew there was a wooden bolt flying through the air, its silver head aimed straight for the vampire's dead heart. 

With lightning speed, Spike thrust out his hands protectively before his heart as he threw himself with all his strength against the stone door and fell backwards into the crypt. 

He gasped as the yellowed wood pierced his pale, slender hands and embedded itself into his chest. With his last bit of energy, he kicked the door shut and collapsed at the edge of the threshold, praying to a god long forgotten that the Nibblet wouldn't have to watch him crumble into dust. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
Her daughter leaned her head wearily against the cold aluminum pole, her forehead furrowed as she looked across the park. 

"... he won't know," the Slayer folded her arms across her chest in a curiously Dawn-ish fashion. "We told Dawn to stay away from him, Mom." 

Joyce shook her head slightly, almost tempted to smile at her child's naivete even as she held back the tears. 

"I also remember telling you to stay away from Angel," she reminded the Slayer, her voice soft but firm. 

Buffy had the good grace to colour as her mother's words hit her. 

"But... Angel... a soul," the girl stuttered uncomfortably as she glanced away. 

Joyce waved her child's excuses off with a swift hand. "Buffy, it doesn't matter. The point is that you believed that you knew better. So you went to him regardless of what I said." 

"She wouldn't!" Buffy spit out, her worried face melting into an expression of disbelief. 

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't," Joyce sighed as she leaned against the pole. "No more than you would." 

Her daughter closed her eyes tightly as she shook her head. 

"Great. Just wonderful." 

The older woman sighed heavily as she looked to the silver watch on her wrist. Where had the time gone? she wondered sadly as she looked up at the blackened sky. They had spent the last three hours searching Sunnydale for the missing girl, but she was no where to be found. It was almost as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Joyce shook her head suddenly, forcing the thought out of her head. 

"Buffy?" she started hesitantly, knowing quite well how her oldest would take her request. "I'll wait for the others here. Go check Spike's. Get him to help." 

The Slayer's head swung back to look at her mother, her head shaking almost imperceptibly. 

"Buffy. Do it," Joyce enunciated the words carefully, frowning as she watched her daughter open her mouth to protest. "Listen to me. She's helpless right now and alone. We have to find her before anything else does, Buffy. And if that means we have to go to Spike to do it, so be it." 

"Mom..." 

"Don't 'Mom' me. I know how you feel about him, but right now I don't care. What is five minutes of being uncomfortable compared to your sister's safety?" she angrily pushed a lock of soft, brown hair behind her ear. "Spike has shown time and time again he can find anyone, anything anywhere, Buffy. And if we can use him to help us find Dawn, then we will. Understood?" 

Buffy closed her eyes as she nodded slightly. 

"I'll leave the second Giles and the rest get here," she started softly. 

Joyce shook her head, the brown curls flying in every direction. 

"They'll be here any minute. I'll wait for them. You go now." 

"But..." 

The frown on the mother's face intensified. "Go now, Buffy. I can take care of myself. Dawn can't." 

Joyce watched as her daughter nodded then darted away, the orange plaid skirt flying up indecently as the girl leapt over a fallen garbage can. Joyce collapsed into the wide rubber of a swing, dangling her feet helplessly as she wished with all her heart they would get to her youngest daughter before anything happened. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
Spike choked back a fit of laughter as he looked down at the wooden shaft pinning his hands above his heart. He wasn't quite sure why he wasn't dead yet, but he wasn't willing to quite question it aloud. That would seem too much like tempting fate. 

Someone kicked roughly at the door, jarring his body as where it lay. He groaned in pure agony as he felt the wood brush against the surface of his heart, the pain of the movement nearly making him fall unconscious. It was a terrible pain unlike any he had ever known, one that made every other injury he'd ever endured in his existence seem like nothing more than a small scrape. 

He ground his teeth together as he tried to pull his hands free of the shaft, but they wouldn't come loose. Harnessing what little strength he still possessed, Spike edged quietly away from the door, realising that any unnecessary movement could drive the bolt home. 

The man burst through the door, his long hair shadowed by the night as he looked around the crypt. His eyes rested on Spike just long enough to ascertain the fallen vampire would not be a problem before he glanced around the room. With a lazy, cocky grin, his eyes roamed to the girl sleeping so blissfully in the recliner. 

Samson quietly reloaded the crossbow, cocking it solemnly as he pointed it at Dawn's forehead. 

"She's just a bloody little girl!" Spike forced his mouth to move, the effort alone causing his body to break out into a cold sweat. 

"She's evil incarnate," Samson huffed as he frowned down at the child. 

"I always knew I liked her," the vampire winced as he watched the girl sleep so innocently, unaware of the madman who held her little life in his hands. 

The madmen, Spike corrected himself in a fit of honesty as he tried pulling the shaft out of his chest again. He groaned softly as he yanked his hands free, tearing the tender, white skin. His weakened hands grasped around the slippery shaft, his own blood painting his torn hands a macabre red. He bit deeply into his bottom lip as he pulled the shaft free of his chest, shuddering with the pain as the metal embedded in his heart broke free of the tissue. 

The assassin shook his head slowly as he contemplated the girl. 

"She's so young to be such a creature," he murmured absently as he tightened his grip on the crossbow. "I had no idea she'd be such a pretty little thing. Why does evil always take the form of beauty?" 

Spike groaned audibly as he tried to gain a handle on his fading strength. Figures he'd get the maniac poofter who would insist on boring everyone to death with philosophy before he murdered them. 

"Why do you insist on using that dreadful accent, mate? Puh-leese. Why would you want to sound like a bloody American anyway?" Spike grumbled absently as he tried to distract the madman from the little girl. 

Samson took a step back and appraised the vampire cautiously. 

"I am American, you moron," the man growled as he turned to face the bloodied creature. 

"You are no more a Yank than I am. So what's the deal?" Spike nearly laughed in triumph as he watched the crossbow lower as the assassin regarded him carefully. 

"I don't have time for this," Samson stated evenly as he swung back to Dawn. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the weapon until it lined up with her head. 

Spike suddenly shot out a foot, grunting in pain as his chip protested the contact he made with the back of the assassin's knees. He shook his head as he watched the assassin fall to his feet, the crossbow flying free from his hands. 

Somehow he found the strength to find his way to his feet. 

The assassin slowly stood, his disbelieving eyes focused on the vampire warily. He shook his head silently as he raised his fists. 

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike huffed impatiently as he launched himself at the man, waiting for the chip to wrack his brain with the shooting pain as he punched Samson in the face. His body seized as the heat coursed through his veins, the contractions nearly causing him to fall to his feet. Perhaps it was due to the weeping wounds in his chest and hands, but the pain, amazingly enough, wasn't as bad as he expected. 

Samson snapped a fist back, knocking Spike in his nose. There was an electrifying hunger in the man's eyes, as if the blood and violence would make the assassination even sweeter. 

"S-spike?" Dawn's sweet voice seemed to rise above the callous shuffling. It took all his willpower not to look at her. 

"Go find your sis, Nibblet. Now." 

The girl shook her head as she wearily stood amidst the chaos. "My head hurts." 

"Tell your bloody sister!" he growled, his face fully transformed into the demon visage as he blocked a kick. "Just go, dammit." 

Samson tackled the vampire to the floor, sticking his fingers into the open wounds and twisting the skin. 

"Just sit right there, girl, and I won't kill your friend here," Samson growled as he looked up from the carnage to see the child's paled face. 

"You were the man at the park," she whispered as she backed closer to the wall. 

The man's face fell at her words. "You saw me?" 

"That's what she just said, you git," Spike jabbed his elbow into the man's neck, his body tensed as he waited for the pain to hit. He whimpered as the fire echoed through his body, it seeming to burn away the last of his strength. Helpless, he lay on the floor as he watched the little girl look dumbly at the monster above him. 

"But they _trained_ me. I passed my tests with bloody flying colours! You couldn't have seen me!" the assassin protested, oblivious to everything but his own voice. With a sharp intake of breath, he bashed the demon on the head a last time before he shoved himself up off the floor. With an intimidating huff of breath, Samson took a step towards the girl. 

"You're human," she breathed, almost as if she were unwilling to believe she could come to harm from her own kind. 

"And you are not," Samson retorted, his eyes full of nothing more than the pride of a job soon to be well done. "We were told you were Her." 

"Her?" Dawn asked, glancing down at Spike who was gesturing with his bloody hands for her to stall. 

"The Hellgod. One of the triumvirate," the assassin chuckled harshly, a flush darkening his cheeks. "Even I couldn't kill a god. But I can destroy the Key which would unlock the darkness. And thus, the threat would be eliminated forever." 

"Oh, please," Dawn rolled her eyes to the heavens as she tried to banish the desperate tones from her voice. "Do you see what I have to put up with, Spike?" she spit out through gritted teeth. 

Samson looked at her, his pallid lips tugging into a frown. 

Spike winced as he watched the little girl take a confident step towards the killer, her pretty face contorted by dismay. 

"The Key, Key, Key. Everyone talks about it but no one seems to know where it is!" the Key complained, her voice shaking with feigned anger. Spike could see the vein at the base of her neck pulsing madly. Had the assassin been a vampire, he would have known instantaneously the girl was lying from just the strong scent of fear she exuded alone. 

"You are a man, aren't you?" she hissed as she stood on her tiptoes to look into the man's bewildered eyes. "Then why aren't you helping me find my Key? It's not that hard, really! I mean, puh-leeese! You know, Damsel. Distress. You figure it out." 

Samson shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the girl. 

"But you are the Key." 

Dawn slapped him upside his head, her lower lip trembling as the man jumped. "Like, hello! If I were the Key, do you actually think I'd still be here right now? I wouldn't be having this problem. I'd be back home, queen of the roost like I should be instead of standing here wasting _my_ precious time talking to you," she whined in feigned annoyance, her hands shaking as she gestured outrageously. 

His hands braced against the stone coffin, Spike slowly pulled himself up. The girl's eyes darted to him and almost in a panic, she spoke again. 

"Everywhere I go, it's Slayer this, Key that. It's like everyone can't stop thinking about themselves long enough to even think about me! Like, hello! What's _that_ about! Ya can tell the world is really ***SPLOOF***! going down the tubes when _my_ problems just don't mean anything." The girl put her hands up to her forehead, her hands moving frantically along her forehead as the assassin looked dumbly on. 

She's really quite good, Spike thought in wonder as he tried to silently creep up behind the stunned madman. Almost good enough to make _me_ wonder. 

Dawn met his eyes for a moment, her soft brown ones deadly serious in her intent. 

"It's enough to make a girl crazy. Just crazy," she grumbled as she suddenly slapped her hands together. "Ya know what I mean?" 

Samson shook his head slowly, bewitched by the girl's actions. 

"I didn't think so. Too much to expect," she sighed melodramatically as she hopped up onto the coffin, trying to scoot subtly out of the assassin's reach. 

He shook his head quickly as he stepped closer to her. "I don't know what game you are playing at, girl," Samson spoke dully as he reached out for her slender neck. "But I'm not buying it." 

"Willing to bet your measly little life on it?" Dawn snorted, her eyes darting from Spike back to Samson as her bluff ran out of steam. 

"Yeah, I think I am." 

"I think not," Spike growled as he rammed into the back of the assassin, kicking the man off his feet. He pinched the man by his neck as he tried to drag him away from Dawn. Grinding his teeth as he anticipated the pain, he clawed Samson across the chest, watching in awe as the blood unleashed from the man's body. 

No pain. 

Where's the bloody pain? Spike cringed as he waited for it to hit, the distraction giving Samson the upperhand. The bruised fist slammed repeatedly into Spike's face, but the vampire was too busy waiting for the chip to kick in to even notice. 

"Where's the bloody pain?" he echoed out loud as he looked to the blond man above him. The man seemed affronted by Spike's question and punched him hard in the gut. 

He grasped the man's neck with his bloody hands, his face contorted by the demon within. His nostrils flared as he sank his teeth into the man's thick neck and waited for the pain to strike. 

Suddenly, Spike shoved the dazed assassin away and looked up towards the crying girl. When did she start crying, a part of him wondered dully as his eyes seemed to find their way back to Samson's bleeding neck. 

"Spike, come on. We got to go," Dawn urged, pulling on the vampire's sleeve. "We got to go!" 

He nodded, still unable to look away from the blood. 

"Spike! Come ON!" 

With a groan, he allowed the girl to help him up to his feet, unwilling to meet her concerned gaze. She knew, he realised with a sickening twist in his stomach. 

Panting with exertion, she pulled him towards the door, her eyes focused solely on the stunned man sitting on the floor. The assassin looked blankly at the blood covering his hands. They only had moments before the man regained his senses and the girl knew it. 

"Spike!" she screamed in his ear as she continued tugging. "Run, dammit. We have to run!" 

The vampire turned to her, his eyes wide in disbelief as they flickered over her tense countenance. Suddenly, the laughter that had been burbling up in him finally released itself with a vengeance. 

Her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears as she regarded him in dismay. "What the hell is the matter with you? We got to get out of here, you dumbass!" 

Spike nodded as he wiped away his own tears. Funny, he thought as he grabbed the girl by the hand. He didn't even remember crying. The deep timbre of laughter was still evident in his voice as they started to run away from the place he had long considered home. 

"The electricty lied to me, Nibblet. It lied."   



	6. Chapter Six

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Six **   
  


Sir Samson Gulliver forced himself to his knees, a hand still clutching at his torn throat. Wisps of light, straggly hair flew into his incredulous face as he bent over, willing his strength to return. With a deep breath, he pulled himself up unsteadily to his feet, careful not to disturb the coffins which lay so innocuously around the crypt. 

Sighing with frustration as he noticed the large tear in his black slacks, he leaned against the stone wall as he looked around. Idly, he brushed at the dust and blood on his clothing as he quickly reviewed the skirmish in his head. 

"Hail the bloody Creator," he growled as he slammed his bleeding knuckles into the stone. He closed his eyes for a moment as he berated himself for his stupidity. 

And yes, it was stupidity, Samson admitted as he looked at his damaged hand. Shoot first, ask questions second. How hard is it to really follow that cardinal rule? And because he let his ego get the better of him, the Key and her consort were forewarned and undoubtedly searching for sanctuary this very moment. 

So much for a simple reconnaissance mission. Samson's cheeks flushed as he realised that it had stopped being a recon mission a while back. Sighing again, he shrugged his broad shoulders as he considered calling his brethren for backup. 

He pulled the cellular out of his interior pocket, only to exhale sharply as he noticed the damage. 

Hell, it wasn't just damaged. The dodgy thing had been crushed in the scuffle. In a fit of anger, he threw the miniature phone at the wall, closing his eyes in pleasure as he heard the twisted metal rebound off the stone and slam into a coffin. 

It was going to be hard enough to make that phone call. To tell them he had failed in his mission of merely following Glorificus. That he had failed to alert them that the child they had thought was the Hellgod was truly the mortal Key instead. That his impromptu and completely unapproved assassination attempt had backfired. That the Key remained safe. And on top of it all, he had to find another bloody phone to do it with. Well, hail the old bugger, he gnawed on his lower lip as his eyes roamed over the remains of the cellular phone. His forehead furrowed as a thought suddenly came to him. 

"Hail the Creator," Samson breathed, his thoughts more reverent than they had been just a moment before. The phone. The bloody phone must be a sign from the Creator Himself not to call his brethren. And who was he to second-guess a god? 

With a brilliant grin, he saluted the heavens as he slowly made his way out of the crypt. Samson spared a last glance for the destroyed phone before he stepped outside, his hand annointing the brass handle with his own blood as he shut the stone door. 

Samson pushed his long blond hair out of his face as he walked towards the gated entrance. With his spirits so thoroughly lifted, the Initiate of the Order of the Knights of Byzantium pursed his lips as he began to whistle a song he had learned in his early childhood. The assassin cracked a small, sweet smile as the haunting strains of "Jesus Loves Me" echoed softly through the endless night. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Rupert?" she called out, her hands grasping awkwardly at the rusted chains of the swing. 

Joyce frowned as she contemplated the darkness, her every instinct on fire as she realised she was no longer alone in the light forsaken playground. And those sharp, primative instincts screamed that her uninvited guest was not human. At least, not anymore. 

"Rupert!" she repeated, cursing the way her voice trembled in the night. Just your imagination, she told herself firmly as she looked around her. Rupert and the kids would be here any moment. It must be their footsteps she heard echoing on the cool concrete. 

She closed her eyes and fumbled in her large, black purse for the stake Buffy had always insisted she carry with her. 

She really needed a smaller purse. 

Joyce upended her purse over the ground, nodding silently as the stake fell to the top of the heap. Quickly, she grabbed at the sharpened wood, pricking her fingers as she clutched it closely to her chest. 

Better safe than sorry, after all. 

"Rupert?" Joyce asked weakly, the footfalls directly behind her. 

Cold, callous chuckling answered her, the tone seeming to rise and fall with each of her panicked breaths. 

Wishful thinking, Summers, she told herself. Subtly, she slipped off her high-heeled shoes as she prepared for her sprint. 

"Rupert!" Joyce mumbled, forcing her voice to sound lighthearted and sweet. "You scared the heavens out of me. Give me a second, sweetheart?" 

She closed her eyes as she felt the vampire stand above her, the stench of his long unwashed body mingling with old blood. 

Joyce pushed herself out of the swing, tossing the rubber seat and rusty chains right at the face of the vampire. Without a look back for her assailant, she stumbled across the sand towards the ill-lit street just beyond the park. 

The vampire roared in anger as he dashed to keep up with the middle-aged woman, his long legs stretching to their limits as he chased her along the abandoned street. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Think. 

He's coming. What now? What now? What now? 

Think. 

"Think, dammit!" Dawn commanded herself aloud as she pulled on the dazed vampire's sleeve. With a fierce frown, she looked at Spike. His face was even more pale than usual, excepting for the smear of the man's blood around his lips. 

Don't think about it, she told herself as she quietly checked his wounds. Serious. Definitely serious, she decided as she noticed the dark blood pooling around the open wound in his chest and the torn flesh of his hands. There would be no way the either of them would survive another fight with the psycho guy. 

"I could kill you, Nibblet," he mused, his soft baritone full of awe. His black eyebrows knit together in confusion as he seemed to focus on the small, white hand which tugged unceasingly on his arm. 

"Does it look like I freaking care? We *have* to get out of here, Spike!" 

The vampire shook his head slowly, his pupils wide as he gazed down on the slender girl by his side. "I can kill you." 

Dawn frowned, sparing a glance over her shoulder for the cemetery they had only just left behind. A nearby streetlamp sputtered and flickered as its soft, yellow light slowly began to die. She shook her head slowly as she forced herself to think. 

"Chances are that he knows where I live. About the Magic Box..." 

"You don't understand. I can kill you," he repeated, his tone flat and dead. 

"...he may even try to beat us there," Dawn continued as if he had never interrupted. "He will prolly try to go after Buffy. Or Mom." 

Spike cocked his head at the girl, his lips pursed menacingly. 

"Mom. Oh, god. We got to get to Mom. Home. It's dark. She'll be home," Dawn gasped out, her heart pounding as she realised that her mother would never expect a thing. 

The vampire just stood there silently, looking at the girl with a strange fire in his eyes. Quietly, he ran his fingers through the short, white spikes of his hair, oblivious to the trail of blood which tinted his fingers a ghastly red. 

"Come on, damn you! We got to get to Mom!" she choked out, tearing her eyes away from the oddly mesmerizing sight. "Spike. We got to go!" 

His broken hands moved in a flurry, grasping at her neck and waist as he pulled her into the darkened alley, only to thrust her hard against the wall. 

"Feel safe with me now, Nibblet?" Spike smiled evilly as he lowered his head to stare her in the eyes. He pressed against her as he released his hand from her waist, his face distorted grotesquely by his inner demons. 

"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." 

The vampire shook his head slowly, all the while his lips turned up in a hideous parody of a loving smile. 

"I can kill you, Nibblet," Spike whispered seductively in her ear as he caressed her cheek with a gentle hand. "No bloody chip. No bloody sis. Nothing to stop me. At all." 

Dawn closed her eyes as everything she ever knew flashed before her. 

"Mom. Spike, you got to listen to me. We have to go help Mom," her voice seemed to be nothing more than a breath of wind. It took all of her courage to open her eyes and to face the creature. 

Growling, he twisted her neck slightly, exposing the rapidly pulsating jugular to the cool, night air. Spike traced a finger over the artery, his eyes closed in bliss as he felt its beat. 

"So beautiful," he whispered as he nuzzled her ear. "I could steal all that beautiful blood from you before you even realised what happened, Nibblet." 

Speechless, she just nodded as the bricks of the wall bit into her spine. 

He sighed softly as he moved his hand up to caress her face. His eyes hardened suddenly as he dug a jagged nail into the tender flesh of her cheek, his lips tugging into an ironic smile as their blood mingled with the gesture. 

Dawn didn't move a muscle, her wide brown eyes mesmerized by his. 

"I can kill you, Dawn." 

She nodded calmly as she felt a small stream of blood drip down her face. "Then why don't you? You've killed everything else tonight." 

He frowned, his elongated fangs gleaming with the dim starlight. 

"I didn't kill him." 

"No. But you killed my best friend," she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked up at him. 

Spike's pale forehead wrinkled as he considered the teenage girl. His eyes flashed and suddenly, Dawn found herself back on her feet. 

"You should be dead by now," he said softly, his eyes focused on the red stream dripping down her face. Deliberately, he raised his finger to his lips and tasted her blood, smiling in ecstasy as the taste sang out through his body. "You've got sweet stuff there, Nibblet." 

Dawn stood on her toes as she tried to look the vampire in the eyes. She frowned as she noticed his amusement at her attempt. 

"Don't be a moron, Spike. We got to get out of here. So stop with the 'Big Bad' BS and let's just go?" 

"Big Bad BS? It's not an act, girl. It's what I am. I'm a killer," he growled, grabbing at her neck only to pinch at the skin painfully. 

"Why?" she asked quietly, ignoring the discomfort the best she could. 

He blinked as he regarded the girl. 

"I'm a bloody vampire, you dumb bint!" Spike shoved her hard against the wall, his anger glowing in his eyes. 

"You don't think I *know* that?" Dawn growled back. "So why does that mean you have to kill?" 

"Because eating daft little girls like you makes my life complete?" He snarled viciously as he openly eyed her neck. 

She wasn't sure when it happened, but for some reason, he didn't seem to be such a vampire anymore. He was just Spike. Spike wouldn't hurt her, she thought as she wiped the blood from her cheek. 

"Look, as much as I like feel bad for you for this stupid mental breakdown, *Mom* is in trouble. Okay, you're a dumb vampire. Okay, maybe you vampires normally go around killing anything that breathes. But who *says* that's the way it has to be? Are you so dumb you can't think for yourself, Big Bad? You gotta do and be everything that all your lil demon friends tell you to be? That's not being bad. That's being a cute little fuzzy sheep. I mean, hello. Talk about succumbing to peer pressure and all that." 

He groaned as he slammed a broken fist into the wall, only to grunt as the pain wracked through his arm. Shaking his hand out furiously, he glared at the girl. 

"You're bloody well near impossible!" 

"And you're bloody well near stupid!" she shot back, pausing only to stick her tongue out at him. 

He shook his head slowly as he regarded the girl. "You should have run." 

Dawn frowned, uncertain as to whether he meant before back in the crypt from the assassin or now. From him. 

"I couldn't leave my best friend there," she bit out, tilting her chin up defiantly. 

"Your best 'friend' can kill you." 

With a grunt of impatience, she stamped down hard on his foot. "I hate you!" 

He pushed her away but not before she caught the look of repulsion and uncertainty in his eyes. Whether it was directed at her or himself, she had no clue. 

"I was wondering how long that would take. Key or not, you just the little chip off the old Summers' block, aren't you?" 

"I hate you," she repeated, the words barely coming out from her gritted teeth. "You can come with me or you can stay here, Stupid. Either way, I'm going to go save my Mom." 

"And you think you actually stand a chance in hell?" his laugh rang out in the night, callous and brutal. 

Dawn frowned as she regarded the monster, silent for once as she carefully sized him up with a toss of her head. 

With an obscene gesture in his direction, the girl broke out of his tentative grasp and stalked out of the alley and into the general direction of her house. 

He stood there for a moment, watching her. Suddenly, he tugged self-consciously at his shirt as he ran to catch up. 

The girl ignored him as they continued walking side by side. 

"I could kill you, you know," Spike said, his tone conversational. 

"Yeah," Dawn didn't even spare a moment to look at her companion. "I know." 

  



	7. Chapter Seven

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* _borrowing_ them for a bit.   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Seven **   
  


"I'm going to kill him," the Slayer grumbled as she kicked the stone door open. Her plaid miniskirt rustled about her thighs as a gust of wind blew into the room. "Just give me one itty bitty excuse, Spike. Please. Just one little excuse. Is that so much to ask?" 

Buffy snorted in disgust as she glanced about the room. The vampire was no where in sight, but his prized leather duster lay on the recliner, which meant Spike was somewhere nearby. He never went anywhere without that thing. 

"Great. Just delightful," Buffy mumbled as her eyes automatically found their way to the metal plate which marked the entrance to the catacombs. God knows what he was doing down there, she thought against her will. Her cheeks flushed vividly as several rather risque ideas popped into her head. 

"Spike?" she called out weakly as she tore her eyes away from the gleaming metal to only have them fall upon the bed. 

"Oh, don't go there," Buffy told herself firmly as she raised her eyes to the safety of the vaulted ceiling. 

"Oh, lookie. A spider," she said in a rush as she tried to force her thoughts away from the vampire and his undoubtedly nefarious deeds. Spike. He has to be down in the catacombs. 

"A tiny little black spider," Buffy continued, her treasonous thoughts wandering back to the more intriguing topic of Spike. What was he doing in the catacombs? 

"Awww! He's making a web," she cooed enthusiastically, almost as if event were completely novel. "How cute!" 

With a deep sigh, her eyes flittered back to the cover. 

"Get a grip, Buffy," she commanded herself through gritted teeth. This whole deal with Spike had her on the edge. Spike! Of all people. 

Over the last year or so, there had been no escaping Spike. She couldn't go anywhere, do anything, without coming across the vampire. But it really hadn't been so bad, she had to admit. After all, in a fight, every blow the vampire took was one less the Scoobies would. Plus, he had the added benefit of being a decent enough fighter. Okay, maybe it was more than that. 

She *knew* him. What he was capable of. What to expect. 

Or at least, she thought she had. 

But this whole deal with his crush just totally blew her mind. His crush. On *her*. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work. It was like saying goodbye to their rather shakey truce and a great, big hello! to all the angst in the world. Like she didn't have enough of that junk already. 

Spike. He was supposed to just pop in, snap off a few semi-amusing quips, trade a few punches, then leave. That was it. It was like a tidy little business deal. And now, he had to go screw everything up by deluding himself. The whole idea unsettled her the more she thought about it. And for some reason, she *couldn't* stop thinking about it. 

After all, she never hid who she really was around him. It wasn't like she cared what he thought. For the first time in her life, Buffy had felt completely comfortable saying whatever was on her mind around another person. She had nothing to prove, didn't have to worry about saving his feelings. And the truth was, it felt *good*. And it felt even better to know that out of all the people she's ever known, only Spike would ever respond in kind. No lies. No promises. Just the brutal truth. 

And sometimes, "brutal" was just the word to describe it. The thing was that the Scoobies never seemed to understand in their hurry to protect her: she wanted to know the truth. No matter how horrible it was. She needed it as much as she needed air and a piece of carved wood. It was essential to her life. After all, an uninformed Slayer was a dead Slayer. 

So what happened now? Their truce was destroyed. Their mock battles and verbal sparring would become a thing of the past. It was over. And that little fact hurt her more than she was willing to admit. 

Her mother didn't understand just how embarrassing it was to be here. In Spike's place. Asking *him* for help to find her own sister. Like she couldn't do it herself. After everything that's happened. Knowing him, he'd read it as interest. 

And she certainly wasn't interested. She could already feel his smug looks, his sardonic comments as he seized on her weaknesses. Or even worse, he'd be nice. And do everything he could to please her. That, like the others, he'd tell her everything he thought she wanted to hear. That things would be okay. That when things came down to it, she'd beat Glory. That Riley would come back. That her mother really was okay. 

How could she ever trust him again? The next time she needed him to take care of her mother and sister, how would she know he meant it when he said he'd protect them? That one time Dawn had run away when finding out she was the Key, Spike had told her she would find her. And Buffy had believed him because it was *Spike*. And Spike never lies. As incredible as it sounded, in an odd way, she really trusted him. But now, he had to go screw up everything by lying to her. 

By telling her he loved her. 

Her nostrils flared as she regarded the thin piece of metal on the floor. With a toss of her head, she stamped over to the object and pushed it off the opening. She closed her eyes for a split second as she listened to the cover clatter on the stone floor. 

"Spike!" she growled, the anger at the whole situation boiling through her veins. She'd be damned before she played any more of these stupid games. Enough was enough. 

"Answer me, dammit. I don't have time for this. Dawn is missing," she called out. Her brow furrowed curiously as she received no answer. Reluctantly, she peeked down through the opening, her eyes immediately finding the wall where the vampire's creepy little Buffy shrine had been as her long, blonde hair dangled quietly in the air. A small smile inched up on her lips as she remembered the satisfying crash that had resounded through the tomb when she had sent the vampire tumbling right into the middle of the display. 

Her smile soured as she noticed all of the items had been packed away. Like he had forgotten her. Already. Probably moved onto the next bimbo, she thought grouchily. She should dust him as a public service to the females of her species. 

"Spike. Where are you?" Buffy snapped as her eyes suddenly refused to look at That Wall anymore. Her eyes slowly roamed around the catacombs. 

He was no where in sight. 

"Spike?" she called out again, feeling slightly unnerved as her own voice reverberated off the walls. With a troubled frown, she pulled herself up from the opening and sat on the floor of the crypt. Buffy's gaze fell back upon the black duster lying so innocuously in the recliner. 

"He never goes anywhere without it," she said aloud in a dull monotone as she slowly pulled herself to her feet. 

Her light brown eyebrows knit together as she finally looked around the room. Without warning, her knees gave out and she fell back upon the neatly-made bed. Who would have ever thought a vampire could bleed so much, she thought in wonder as she noticed the bloody handprint on the stone wall and the drippings on the overturned coffin. 

She drew her rebellious knees up to her chest as she surveyed the damage. How could she have possibly missed it before? Even the damn bolt which ... the damn wooden bolt lay on the ground by the door, covered in blood. She would have had to step over it to even enter. How did she miss it the first time? 

Buffy closed her eyes as the strong smell of congealing blood assaulted her senses, the putrid scent so potent that she could taste it on her tongue. It was almost as if all the air had been sucked out of the room only to be replaced by a dead man's blood. 

It took all of her willpower not to throw up on the prettily made quilt. 

So much blood. How did she miss it? How *could* she miss it? The smell was so strong. Overwhelming. Really and truly overwhelming. 

Her hands trembled as she reached over to the nightstand beside the bed. Frantically, she pulled it open, searching inside for anything that would take away the brunt of the scent. Nothing. She yanked hard on the bottom drawer, pulling it out of the casing and sending it tumbling to the floor. 

"Sorry. Sorry," Buffy breathed in horror as she looked at the mess. Silently, she fell to her knees, her hands moving in a blur as she replaced the odds and ends back into the drawer. She lifted the drawer and placed it carefully upon its metal track, but she paused before she pushed it home. She knew she had opened the drawer for some reason, but couldn't remember why. 

Shaking her head slowly, she rose to her feet as she kept her eyes averted from the blood which decorated the room so liberally. Before her brain had time to even process the thought, she was standing over the recliner, shrugging into the cool black leather. 

Buffy closed her eyes as the duster brushed against her bare ankles, the caress of the leather strange and foreign, but not unwelcome. Gripping the lapels tightly, she pulled the duster up and inhaled its musty but pleasant scents. Frowning as she felt something crinkle, Buffy reached hesitantly into the interior breast pocket. She withdrew a small sheet of folded paper, the creases darkened with sweat and dirt. 

She frowned as she considered the paper, her eyes glued to it as if it contained the world's most sacred answers within. The Slayer came to the decision quickly and carefully replaced the paper back into the pocket, pausing only to pat it a single time as she quickly strode to the door. 

With a gentle hand, she closed the stone door as she left the crypt, her face as pale and immobile as the marble cherub above the doorway. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
Her bare feet were bleeding. 

Joyce stumbled on, willing herself to ignore the pain as she reached the gallery's door. Biting her lip, she bent low and retrieved the spare key from beneath the flower pot. Her hands trembling, she struggled in the dark as she fumbled with the key. 

He was nearly upon her. 

The lock finally gave way and she pushed through the door, only to immediately turn and slam it in the face of the enraged vampire. 

She laughed in relief, wiping the tears from her eyes as she regarded the door. 

"I didn't survive a divorce, a brain tumour, and raising two teenage girls to be taken down by some two-bit vampire!" she called through the door, her momentary euphoria causing her to disregard her better sense. 

Joyce grinned brightly as she heard the vampire bang on the thin wood repeatedly, his roars a testament to his outrage at being outwitted. 

She closed her eyes as her energy suddenly fled. Leaning against the door, she half-listened as the vampire on the other side cursed her out. 

"Huff and puff, Big Bad Wolf, but *this* little piggy isn't going anywhere," Joyce muttered as she looked around. 

Too dark. 

She flicked the houselights on, only to wince as the general spookiness of the silent room seemed to multiple tenfold as an eerie, flurouscent glow settled over the area. The shadows seemed to dance from every corner, hiding under the curves and sharp edges of every sculpture and painting. 

Joyce shivered, her arms wrapped around herself as she considered the room. With a shake of her head, she walked quietly to her office. 

She threw herself down into the black cloth executive chair, her legs immediately crossing at the ankle as she regarded the phone. 

The woman lifted the handset thoughtfully, her gazed locked onto the innocuous white buttons of the phone. She tapped a long, manicured nail on the base, frowning as she deliberated on paging her eldest. 

"Hope you aren't planning to call the police," the vampire looked down at her with an amused look in his cloudy eyes. He stood arrogantly above her, his long, frayed dredlocks flowing to his muscular waist. 

"Hope you aren't threatening the Slayer's mother," Spike said, his tone bored and dry as he leaned against the wall lazily. 

"Spike," the taller vampire growled, his eyes widened by the sudden appearance of the master vampire. "Well, if it isn't the old turncoat." 

"_Turncoat_, mate? Lemme guess. You've been watching Nick at Nite, right? Thought so," the blond vampire rolled his eyes to the heavens as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

"Spike?" Joyce asked quietly, her face pale as she looked from vampire to vampire. "How did you two get in here? I didn't invite..." 

"Don't need an invite for a public place, Joyce..." 

"You are on a first name basis with a mortal?" the young vampire asked incredulously, his demon visage melting back into that of a human. 

Spike sighed impatiently as he considered the fledgling. "It's taken you this long to figure it out, mate?" 

"But a *mortal*," the vampire protested. 

"Really, Joyce," Spike started conversationally as he turned away from the vampire. "The kids nowadays. Bunch of morons, they are." 

Joyce just nodded dumbly as she watched the scene unfold. 

"Tell you what, mate. I'll be nice this round. You leave. Leave now. Don't come back. And I won't kill you. Got it?" 

"But..." 

"You are still here?" 

"But..." 

"Your funeral, mate. Nibblet! Stake him!" 

"Aw. Can't we torture him a little bit first?" 

"Dawn! Sweetheart! I've been worried sick! ... um. Torture?" 

"Um. Torture?" 

"Sounds fair enough to me, luv." 

"Oh, cool. I always wanted to try my hand at it, you know. They made us watch something on the Spanish Inquisition at school. That Torquama-something guy... Wow. I wanted to see if ... Aw! Where did Grrr-Guy go?" 

"Dawn! Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you!" 

"Maybe next time, Bitty Bad," the vampire said affectionately as he reached out a torn hand and ruffled her hair. Spike looked somewhat aghast as he realised what he just did. 

Dawn just looked at the vampire with sad eyes and shook her head. 

"Young lady, I'm waiting for an explanation..." Joyce demanded, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Why didn't you call? And *you*! You just let that.. that *creature* go?" 

"Sorry, Joyce." 

"Sorry, Mom." 

"If someone doesn't start explaining ... Oh, goodness" Joyce slowly came to her feet, wincing as the wounds ached with the pressure. 

Spike's lips quirked as he regarded the woman in amusement. "Don't worry, Joyce. Just a flesh wound." 

"Flesh indeed," the woman frowned as she grabbed at the vampire's hands. "Oh, dear. These are just terrible." 

"Yeah. You should see the one above his heart, Mom," Dawn smirked as she watched Spike flinch at her words. 

The woman pushed the vampire into her chair, frowning as she kneeled and considered the wounds. "Some scuffle." 

"You should have seen the other guy," Spike mumbled, his face even more milky white than typical. 

Dawn frowned as she looked towards the door. 

"He'll be coming, Spike. We got to get out of here," she breathed urgently, the strain beginning to show on her pretty face. 

"Who will...?" 

"The 'other guy', Joyce," the vampire sighed as he lifted his hands to the light. "Bloody hell. Did quite a job on these, didn't he. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit." 

"Spike..." 

"Sorry, Joyce. Been one hell-- heck of a night," Spike frowned as he considered his wounds. "Aw, hell! I just *painted* these things!" he grumbled in exasperation as he waved around his destroyed manicure. 

The older woman's lips pressed together in annoyance as she carefully examined the vampire's injuries. 

"Really, Mom. We'll explain. But it's not safe here," Dawn said softly, her eyes darting to the door. 

"As much as I'd like to agree, Dawnie, we aren't going anywhere. I don't really think it would be wise to move Spike," Joyce sighed as she lifted the handset. 

"Mom?" 

"It's okay, sweetpea. First aid kit is in the lower drawer of the cabinet to the left of the sink. Get it for me, baby?" Joyce smiled comfortingly at her daughter as she pressed a series of numbers on the old, yellowed phone. 

"'Kay." 

Spike winced as he recognised the number Joyce dialed. 

"She's going to kill me," the vampire sighed fatalistically. 

"Oh, don't worry," Joyce patted the vampire on the shoulder comfortingly. "She fully intended to. After the ... Incident." 

Spike groaned in pure embarrassment as he lowered his head to his broken hands, the misery emanating from the injured vampire nearly tangible. 

"What *is* it with you Summers women? You aren't going to let me forget it, are you?" 

Joyce smiled kindly as she covered the head of the handset with a dainty hand. 

"Of course not. What fun would there be in that?" 

"Aw. Bloody. Hell." 

  



	8. Chapter Eight

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Dedication: _ This one goes out to Pandora for all the marvellous support and encouragement. Ooo. And the visuals. *PURR* You are AWESOME!   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* "borrowing" them for a bit.   
_Note: _Please ignore grammar and spelling errors. I'm afraid I've been burning the midnight oil in order to get this one done, which definitely cuts down on my ability to construct a coherent sentence. :-)   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Eight**   
  
  
He stood quietly outside, the moonlight reflecting off his pale hair as he contemplated the house before him. With a shrug, Samson knelt beside the meticulously trimmed bushes as his hands foraged through the dirt. 

Grinning triumphantly, he pulled the small, rubber frog from its hiding spot behind the branches. Samson swung the tiny, metal plate on its hinge and withdrew the key, pausing only to toss the frog back into the foliage. 

It didn't bother him as much as he thought it would that in just a matter of a few hours, he would be directly responsible for the deaths of a mother and her two daughters. 

"Those who align themselves with evil do not deserve to be mourned," Samson quoted blithely as he opened the front door to the Summers' home. 

Dusting his shoes off on the welcome mat, the assassin peered into the darkened house. With a small smile, he stepped into the hallway, shutting the oaken door behind him. 

The man whistled softly as he wandered around the house, his dirtied hands tracing the wallpaper as he walked by. 

It wouldn't take much to arrange an accident, he thought as he stepped into the restroom. 

"Hail the Creator!" Samson grumbled as he looked into the mirror, aghast at the sight of the torn, filthy man staring back. Quickly, he turned the hot water on and began to briskly wash his hands. He needed a shower, he sighed as his eyes fell upon the dirt-streaked hair and the bloodied face. And his clothes! they needed to be dry-cleaned desperately. 

He raised his eyes to the ceiling as he wondered if the mother had a spare men's suit in her room. After all, a woman who had spawned the children she did undoubtedly got around. 

"Evil doesn't spawn from the Void," Samson mumbled as he examined his face in the mirror. A shave. What he wouldn't give for a shave. And a change of clothes. 

Suddenly, he darted out of the bathroom and rushed up the stairs. Cleanliness, after all, *was* next to godliness. And considering the night he had ahead of him, he needed to be as close to godliness as he could get. Smiling pleasantly, the assassin stepped into the upstairs bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


"It's not there, Mom," Dawn sighed as she leaned against the door frame. 

With a snort, Joyce pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "Utterly helpless, aren't you." 

Dawn giggled as she wrapped her arms around her mother tenderly. 

"Love you, Mommy." 

"Love you more, baby," Joyce whispered into her daughter's hair. She closed her eyes a moment as she breathed in the soft scents of her baby girl. 

Joyce frowned. 

"Come on. We better get the first aid kit, Dawn," Joyce shot a furious look towards the vampire as she started pushing her daughter out of the room. 

"Joyce," Spike called out, his face getting more pale by the moment. "I don't think..." 

"Spike. You stay there. Don't move. We'll be back in a second," Joyce commanded firmly, a fire lighting up her amber eyes. 

"But Joyce... Really. I don't think it's that safe..." 

"It's not up to you to make that decision, is it?" she responded softly as she turned away from the vampire. "Stay here, Spike. And I mean it." 

Spike nodded curtly as he focused on the desk, but not before a look of bewildered hurt flashed in his eyes. 

Her lips pressed in a tight line, Joyce followed her daughter out. 

"Mom?" 

"Storage room. There is a spare kit in there," she explained, her voice shaking with barely contained fury. 

"Mom?" 

"Don't 'Mom' me, young lady," Joyce growled. "How much did you drink?" 

"Drink?" Dawn winced, her cheeks flushing as she looked away from her mother. 

"Have you suddenly become a parrot? Or perhaps a broken recorder? I'm waiting for an explanation, Dawn." 

"But the..." 

Joyce shook her head sternly as she glared at her youngest. 

"No buts. I want to know *right now* what happened. Why my 14 year-old daughter never called to check in, even though she was more than 3 hours late. Why her breath reeks of alcohol. And why she's currently in the company of a creature she was told in no uncertain terms to stay away from," the older woman snapped off, her arms folded across her chest. 

"It's not what you think," Dawn muttered as she opened the door to the storage room. 

"Then *tell* me. Where am I mistaken? What exactly did I get wrong? You mean you weren't late? You weren't drinking? And that's not really Spike in my office?" 

"You aren't *listening*!" the girl complained as she stormed through the room. 

"Then give me something worth listening to, Dawn." 

Dawn closed her eyes as she fell into a small, wooden chair. 

"I don't know what to tell you." 

Joyce huffed as she pulled the first aid kit out of its cubby hole. "Try starting with the truth." 

"I haven't lied!" 

"You have, Dawn. By omission," Joyce sighed helplessly as she looked down on her trembling daughter. "How do you expect me to treat you like an adult when you act like a child?" 

"You haven't heard a single word I said, Mom. How can I possibly explain if you are standing there shooting down everything I say?" 

Joyce pursed her lips as she considered her daughter. 

"Fine. Tell me. Tell me why I should possibly trust you after this." 

Dawn sat up in the chair, her brown eyes settling on her mother in disbelief. 

"Have any clue how it feels to be alone, Mom? To know that no matter what you do, no matter what you say, everyone, including your own mother, will compare you to your perfect older sister? I'm not Buffy. I'm *Dawn*. Key or not. I'm still Dawn. I've never lied to you, I have never burnt down a single gym in my life, and I've never disobeyed you. I'm a good girl. But it feels like you expect me to, at any second, pull a Buffy. Which shows me you have *no* clue who am I. If you did, you'd know. You have any idea how much it hurts that my own *mother* doesn't even know that much about me?" 

The girl sighed as she looked her mother in the eye. 

"Go on. Ground me for running away from home. Punish me for drinking. But *please*. Don't tell me not to hang out with Spike. Don't take away the only person who knows exactly what I am and cares about me anyway. Don't you see? Don't you understand? He's *my* Scooby. Mine." 

Dawn stood silently, her eyes filled with tears as she faced her mother. 

"He saved my life tonight, Mom. Nearly got himself dusted doing it, but Spike's the only reason I'm here right now. Why can't you see it?" Dawn's voice trailed off as the tears began to fall freely. 

Joyce sighed as she pulled her daughter into her arms and hugged her fiercely. 

"Dawn, I love you. More than anything. God, what am I doing so wrong that makes you doubt it?" 

Dawn shook her head as she relaxed in her mother's arms. 

"You aren't, Mommy. Things are just weird right now." 

Joyce nodded as she pulled away from her daughter, only to hold the girl firmly by her shoulders. 

"Listen to me. Whether things are weird or not, just know I love you. With all my soul, I *love* you." 

Dawn smiled tearfully as she hung onto her mother's arm. 

"Love you more." 

Joyce patted her daughter's hand lovingly as they walked out of the storage room, arm in arm. Slowly, they made their way back to the small office. 

"So..." Joyce started quietly. "What's this about you running away?"   
  


* * *

  
  


Samson closed his eyes as he inhaled the soft fragarance of the pink terrycloth. Almost like bottled sunshine, he thought in wonder as he brought the slightly damp towel to his wet skin. Silently, he dried himself off as he stepped out of the shower. 

It didn't bother him that the towel was still moist from its owner's last use no more than it bothered him to use the silver Lady Gilette razor to shave off his 5 o'clock shadow. 

They were just items to be used in his adventure. Nothing more than that. 

He pursed his lips together as he whistled a merry tune, turning this way and that as he considered his reflection in the mirror. 

With a sudden sigh, he tossed the towel over the shower rod, only to turn his gaze back to his naked reflection. 

The battle with the vampire had caused some serious damage, Samson realised in disgust as he carefully examined the rounded lines of his face. Bruises. So many bruises. How could he possibly head the Creator's army when the mortal masses would recoil from his unseemly looks? 

Quickly, he offered a prayer to the Creator as he reached in the medicine cabinet and pulled out a toothbrush. At least, He had given his devout follower the opportunity to clean himself up before the final battle. 

He moved the toothbrush in slow, deliberate circles over his teeth as he considered his reflection in the mirror. He had the kind of face meant to lead. Strong, yet handsome. Charismatic. He had been blessed by the Creator above and was destined for greater things. He had known it his entire life. 

And it all started here with the destruction of this earthbound evil. 

Samson frowned as he wiped his lips free of the white, minty foam. He supposed all he had to do was set a bomb in the basement by the waterheater. Or perhaps inject some poison into the milk. Maybe cut the gas line. Girls like *that* undoubtedly smoked, after all. It would take practically no effort on his part to arrange their deaths. 

But for some reason, the idea of executing the evil in such a roundabout way struck him as just *wrong*. The Hand of the Creator shouldn't hide behind a mask, either of material or ignorance. It was imperative that the Evil know the face of the man who had singlehandedly caused its destruction. 

The time was at hand for Samson to claim his place in history as the saviour of mankind. 

He flashed a demure smile at the mirror, his ego bursting at the attractive visage staring back at him. Samson had always known that his handsome face reflected the purity of his soul. And the Order would see it. Soon. He was certain of it. When he went to make the phonecall to his brethren tomorrow to inform them of the destruction of the Key, *they* would know it. They would know his destiny. 

No. He would no longer be an Initiate of the Order. Sir Samson Gulliver was born to be its King.   



	9. Chapter Nine

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Dedication: _ This one goes out to Pandora for all the marvellous support and encouragement. Ooo. And the visual inducements. *PURR* You are AWESOME!   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* "borrowing" them for a bit.   
_Note: _Please ignore grammar and spelling errors. I'm afraid I've been burning the midnight oil in order to get this one done, which definitely cuts down on my ability to construct a coherent sentence. :-)   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks! Special thanks to Ryan and the other kind souls who keep me buoyed with their wonderful words!   
  


* * *

  
  


**Chapter Nine**   
  


The tall Brit stood quietly by the monkeybars, only to frown as the alarm on his watch began to beep incessantly. 

"They aren't coming. Let's just go home. It's too cold," the former demon complained as she snuggled into her heavy, woolen coat. 

"They'll be here," Rupert Giles insisted as he shut off the alarm with the side of his finger. He raised his head as he glanced over the quiet playground. He nodded slightly as he watched the young women as they crossed the park. 

"No sign yet?" the redhead called out, her face crestfallen. 

The blonde woman smiled weakly as she wrapped a comforting arm around the witch's waist. 

"Not yet," Giles frowned as he looked down at his watch. 

"I think they are waiting for us in the nice, warm shop," Anya muttered, her teeth chattering. "We should go wait for them there." 

Giles closed his eyes in frustration, his hand automatically finding its way to the pocket which held his handkerchief. 

"Perhaps you should go wait there, Anya," the man bit out as he rubbed the cloth against the thick lenses of his glasses. 

The demon nodded eagerly, her light curls bouncing, as she pulled at her boyfriend's arm. 

"Anya. We wait here," Xander told the woman firmly, his eyes missing every trace of his normal humour. 

The former demon cocked her head curiously at him, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she looked at him. 

"But he said..." 

"Anya." 

The girl exhaled impatiently as she tugged at the hem of her coat, all the while mumbling under her breath. 

Giles sighed as he considered the pair. She meant no harm, he thought as he noticed how uncomfortable the woman looked. It wasn't her fault she couldn't see past her own discomfort long enough to really understand the problem at hand. 

The Key was missing. 

"Xander," Giles began quietly, "they very well might be at the shop." 

Anya beamed triumphantly as she poked Xander in the side. 

"Where are they?" Xander turned away from the woman, his face tense with irritation. 

"Probably coming here right this moment," Willow smiled as she caught Xander's eye. "Betcha they stopped off at Baskin Robbins or something. You know. Ice cream cones, cherries on top. The whole family bonding thing." 

Xander quirked a slight smile as he regarded the redhead. 

"Don't know why you are so worried anyway," Anya sighed as she drew the coat around her tightly. "It's not like Buffy will get hurt. And it's not like Dawn will, either. She'll find her in time. She always does." 

The young man whirled around in a rage as he faced the woman. 

Anya smiled at him, her chin lowering as she gestured towards her coat. "It's cold out here, Xander." 

Something in his heart seemed to clench as her big, sweet eyes smiled at him lovingly. 

Quietly, he brushed his fingers across Anya's jaw, his lips curving into a slight smile as he watched her practically purr with the touch. It wasn't as if she wasn't worried because she didn't care about Buffy and Dawn, Xander realised as he contemplated his girlfriend. No. She didn't worry because it never dawned on her that Buffy could ever be defeated. 

What he would give to have such perfect faith right now. 

"We'll wait at the shop," Xander said, his voice hardly carrying as he pulled his hand away from the former demon. "You're carrying your phone, right?" 

Giles nodded slowly as he replaced his glasses back on his nose. 

"Good. Second you see Buffy or Dawn, let us know. We'll be waiting." 

The watcher smiled almost reluctantly as he looked down at the boy. "Someone really does need to check the shop, Xander." 

"I know," Xander smiled weakly as he turned his gaze to Willow and Tara. "Guess it's up to you two to keep the old guy out of trouble." 

"Trouble! Bah. Trouble sees us and runs!" Willow stated confidentally as she puffed out her chest. 

"Yes. T-that's us. Trouble shooo-ters," Tara piped in as she looked around the group. The redhead giggled as she leaned her head on the blonde's shoulder. 

"Trouble shooters. You know. Like "shooo" as in... well, it's a p-pun," the girl's face reddened with embarrassment as she looked around. 

"Yes, we understood it. It just wasn't funny," Anya decided suddenly, her voice matter-of-fact. "It's cold out here." 

"Oh, yes. A pun," Giles interrupted the former demon with a forbidding look and a small chuckle. "Ah, yes. I see. Quite amusing." 

"Cold. Cold. Cold." Anya whispered anxiously into Xander's ear. 

"Call us, Giles?" Xander asked a last time as he glanced over the playground. No sign. 

"Of course." 

With a small sigh, Xander turned and headed for the soft warmth of Sunnydale's only magic shop. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


"...not gonna soddin' wait here while you two chitchat the night away. I mean, I hate to disturb you, but there's only a psychotic moron HUNTING us down," Spike snorted as he pushed himself to his feet. Angrily, he stalked around the office, his gait unsteady. 

"Bloody bints! 'Oooo. It's not up to _you_ to make that decision, is it?'" Spike mocked in a nasally falsetto. "Go on. Go be some bloody fiend's midnight snack. See if I care." 

He slammed his damaged fist into the wall, smiling oddly as the pain coursed through his body. Sighing, he leaned against the papered wood as he surveyed the small room, his energy nearly completely spent. 

"They are just as bad as you, Summers," Spike glared at the picture of the beautiful blonde girl on the desk. Didn't do her justice, he thought idly as his eyes roamed over the photograph. 

Instinctively, he reached for the interior pocket of his duster only to curse at length as he realised he left his precious coat back at the crypt. 

"Bloody soddin' freakin' hell!" Spike growled as he grabbed the picture of Buffy off her mother's desk. "It's all your fault, you know." 

With a long groan, he leaned his head against the wall. 

"What the hell is wrong with you, Slayer? I just wanted you to see _me_. But you never will, will you? And as a nice little bonus, you have to make your mum and kid sister hate me, too. Joyce has *never* talked to me like that. Never. And it's all your bloody fault." 

Quietly, he lifted the framed picture before his eyes, his lips tugging into a fierce frown as he considered it. In a sudden fit of fury, he threw the picture across the room, only to smile in callous pleasure as he heard the glass frame shatter. 

But the relief only lasted a moment. Spike's eyes found their way to the large, golden mirror hanging on the wall. Silently, he walked up to it. Gently, he pressed a finger against the cool silver, frowning, as he saw nothing reflected back at him, not even a smudge from body oils. It was almost as if he didn't even exist. 

"She's not the only one, is she?" he spoke softly, his baritone tight and intense. His slender fingers stroked the smooth surface almost tenderly, as his eyes seemed to burn the image of empty air into memory. 

Mirrors don't lie, he thought as he turned his eyes away from the piece. And this one said he was nothing. 

Nothing. 

That's all the Scoobies would ever see. No matter what he did, no matter whom he saved, no matter what he sacrificed, he'd always be nothing to them. That would never change. It was just stupid to dream otherwise. 

He wasn't a Scooby. He wasn't a friend. He wasn't even their enemy. He was beneath their notice. Nothing. 

Spike would always just be someone looking on: an eavesdropper on an intimate scene. Even here he'd never fit in. It's been a hundred and twenty years and William the Bloody Awful Poet still amused the masses by being the butt of the jokes. 

But he could bloody well fix that now, couldn't he? Spike cracked a grin as he imagined the looks of terror on their insipid little faces as he stole the life from their frail bodies. Best of all, he could take his time. Enjoy a spot of fun as he slowly drained them. Neutered. Ha. He'd be the last they'd ever suspect, which would give him the opportunity to take them down one by one. No one knew the chip was dead. 

Except the Nibblet. 

Spike's nose wrinkled as he leaned against the wall, his eyes trained warily on the door. He'd have to kill the Nibblet before she told anyone. Which meant the moment she came back with Joyce, the girl would have to go down. 

The _second_ she returned. 

He watched the door uncertainly, a strange look passing over his angular features. 

He _could_ always turn her. 

It might be fun having the Nibblet around. She's a smart, funny little thing. And then, she'd be around forever. Dawn would never leave him, never betray him, hell! since she'd be evil, she'd probably never argue with him either. 

The thought left a strange taste in his mouth. 

"May as well admit it, mate," he grumbled in derision. "You like the Sprout the way she is." 

The idea of having her to hang around with forever was beyond tempting. But the problem was he had seen enough turnings to know that it really wouldn't be the same. He'd have to kill someone he kinda liked (a little) only to replace her with just another demon, albeit one wearing the same shell. 

It was amusing in its own way. She wasn't just the Slayer's little brat sis, she was _his_ Bitty Bad. Soul and all. 

He suddenly felt like the biggest nancy to ever exist as he realised that he'd do anything, even get dusted, to keep it that way. 

"Great. Just bloody brilliant. I'll be _brooding_ next," Spike mumbled in disgust as his eyes wandered back to the mirror. Broody, bumpy, and biteless. 

At least the Slayer seemed to like her toys that way. 

The Slayer. 

Why did it always come back to _her_? 

Spike frowned as he looked at his torn hands, the blood clotted into little black lumps around the edges of skin. He could kill her now. Really kill her. 

No more dreams. No more nightmares. 

The girl would finally be beneath *him*. Forever. 

He was silent as he wondered if Joyce and Dawn would invite him to live in their house after Buf...the Slayer died. He could protect them just as well as any. Better, really. 

After all, it wasn't the Scoobies *she* turned to that one time. It was him. 

He could do it. It might even be fun. Telly with Joyce. Maybe a spot of homework with the Nibblet. He was tired of hiding out in the crypts and sewers of the world, anyway. Maybe he actually found a place where he belonged. 

That's it, Spike decided as he thrust his hands into his jean pockets. He'd kill her. The next time he saw the Slayer, she would die. 

"Spike?" an incredulous voice echoed through the room, the tone soft and almost childlike in its shock. 

He lifted his eyes to the threshold, only to cringe as his eyes grazed over the petite form of the woman who haunted both his dreams and his nightmares for the last few years. 

"Slayer."   



	10. Chapter Ten

  
_Spoilers: _Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"   
_Rating: _PG   
_Content: _ Spike/Buffy   
_Dedication: _ This one goes out to Pandora for all the marvellous support and encouragement. Ooo. And the visual inducements. *PURR* You are AWESOME!   
_Disclaimer: _They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* "borrowing" them for a bit.   
_Note: _Please ignore grammar and spelling errors. I'm afraid I've been burning the midnight oil in order to get this one done, which definitely cuts down on my ability to construct a coherent sentence. :-)   
_Feedback: _Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks! Special thanks to Ryan and the other kind souls who keep me buoyed with their wonderful words!   
  
  
  


**Chapter Ten**   
  


She blinked in confusion as she gawked at the vampire standing defiantly before her. Her breathing slowing as she contemplated him, Buffy took a step back and leaned against the wall. 

"Spike?" she repeated softly, her voice thankfully free of any trembling. There was something in his blue eyes that made her want to fall to her knees. She had never known anyone whose eyes spoke as much as his did. 

"Slayer?" Spike mocked in a high-pitched voice as he shoved his hands behind his back. 

And suddenly, it all hit her. 

Buffy growled dangerously as she glared at the vampire. Spike stood so confidentally before her, his lips pursed haughtily as he had the gall to look down on her. He had no right to look so amused. 

He had no right to be here at all. 

Buffy flung herself at the vampire, her fists readied as their bodies collided. He caught her by the arms, his hands clenching onto her muscled skin like powerful vises as he pinned her against the wall. 

"I told you to stay away from my family," the Slayer said quietly, making no move to struggle out of his grasp. "Spike, I _told_ you to leave Sunnydale." 

He had no right to stand there with those blue eyes of his so devoid of emotion while hers were undoubtedly red. He had no right to be holding her against the wall, smelling so intriguingly of spices and cigarettes and earth. 

He had no right. 

"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." Buffy spit out as she felt the disgust churn her stomach, though whether it was directed towards him or herself, she could no longer say. 

Great one, Buffster, she winced as she watched his eyes fall to the duster she wore. Bring the attention to the coat. Wonderful. You'll never hear the end of it. 

She could feel her face turning red as the vampire's eyes traced slowly back up her body. But to her amazement, Spike said not a word as he readjusted his grip on her arms. He stood there silently, his mouth an even line as he stared coldly at her. 

Suddenly, she was grateful for the duster which hid the mass of goosebumps marring the white expanse of her arms. It was almost unnerving. Like Spike could ever be unnerving, she huffed to herself as she returned the glare defiantly. So what. She was wearing his damn coat. Anyone with a little bit of fashion sense would have done it. It didn't mean a damn thing. 

"What's this, Spike?" Buffy rolled her eyes impatiently. "Playing at being the Big Bad again? Oooo. Tell me. Should I act scared now?" 

He cocked his head as he studied her neck quietly, an intense look of concentration on his face. A faint smile creased his lips as he transformed to his game face. 

Cat eyes, Buffy thought as their gazes locked for a moment. He reminded her of a sleek, dangerous cat intent on playing with the mouse whose future he held in his menacing claws. Okay, Buffy admitted grudgingly, she may be currently caught in the cat's claws, but she was no mouse. 

Buffy slammed her head forward suddenly, intent on headbutting the creature. He grunted as he whipped his forehead down to meet her own, controlling the force of the hit. His hands only seemed to tighten around her biceps. And after all that, the moron _still_ didn't say a word. 

Fine, she grumbled as she exposed her neck to his view. If he wants to play stupid games, then she could certainly humour him. 

"Oh, don't eat me, Mr Vampire," she mocked in what she hoped was a good imitation of Harmony's annoying voice. She had to smother a grin as she felt his body tense up at her taunting. "Oooooo. Don't bite me, Big Bad. Ooo. Wait a minute. You can't bite. Ooops. My bad. Grrrrrr!" 

Buffy had to fight the urge to frown as the vampire remained silent. Okay, she had just insulted him twice in a row and had *no* response. This was so unlike Spike. 

"Spike?" she ventured cautiously as she raised her head. "Things okay in Vampville? Didn't get your fangs on some bad blood, did you?" Buffy couldn't help but wince as she heard the tone of concern in her voice. 

Only natural, she told herself firmly. He had acted somewhat cool to her that night when she found out her mother was going in for the CAT scan. It was only natural for her to want to return the favour sometime. Score one for Psychology 101. 

He moved before she even realised it, his fangs touching the tender skin at the base of her neck. She held perfectly still as she tried to calm her nerves. It wasn't as if he could hurt her anyway, she thought as she tried to assuage that piggling little fear which tugged at her stomach. She fought the impulse to close her eyes as she felt his lips graze the skin gently. 

Yup, she thought as he raised his head to look at her, someone was due for a major ass-kicking. 

"I can't hurt you, Buffy," he spoke softly, his eyes widened with dismay. Spike looked so incredibly serious, so surprised, that the girl couldn't think of anything to say in response. 

"Like duh?" she managed to get out as she attempted a smirk. 

Spike shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Finally, he sighed softly as he released the grip on her arms. 

Something just isn't right, she thought as she looked at him carefully. He was too pale, the lines of his face: too drawn. There was something different here but she couldn't put her finger on it. This wasn't Spike. Well, not her Spike. 

Oh, fuck. 

She nearly groaned to herself as she glared at him. She didn't mean *her* Spike as in _hers_, Buffy thought quickly as she wrinkled her nose. She meant the Spike she was familiar with. 

That's it. 

Able to breathe a bit more easily now, Buffy glared at him with the full strength of her frustration. 

He chuckled suddenly, almost brutally. 

"You'll never know, will you, Summers? You are many things, but being perceptive just isn't one of them..." 

"Heeeeeeey!" 

"Oh, just shush up for once, Slayer. Or can't you go that long without hearing the sound of your own voice?" 

The girl nearly snarled, but remained silent. 

"You know," Spike snorted as he stepped away from the girl. "I can't decide if you are really that hopelessly blind or if you just pretend to be. No. Now that I think about it, I'm sure it's the latter. You can't be the fighter you are if you don't have _some_ ability to perceive others." 

Buffy just rolled her eyes. "And what do you know of perception? You've been madly in love with some insane ho for over a hundred years!" 

"What does one thing have to do with the other?" he shrugged carelessly. "I know what you are doing, Summers. And don't pretend that you don't know, either." 

The Slayer huffed in disgust. 

"Oh, please. Enlighten me with your wisdom." 

His mouth quirked into a crooked smile as he looked at her with affection in his eyes. "It's all about control. About fear." 

"Ooookay. Like _that_ made sense." 

"Why are you talking so much, Buffy? You afraid of what I'm going to say?" 

She lifted her chin up determinedly as she met his gaze. "Afraid? Of you? Puh-leeese." 

With an absent look in his eyes, he lifted his hand to stroke her cheek. 

"Don't you _dare_," she growled dangerously. 

He shook himself out of the momentary reverie long enough to drop his hand to his side. 

"The control part, I get. I've watched you in action long enough to notice your 'type': poofy and weepy and weak. You are so scared of losing control that you will only see those blokes that you _know_ you can hold the upper hand on. Peaches was so bloody in love with you that he couldn't see straight (leaving was the best thing he ever did for you ... and himself, whether you want to believe it or not), and the overgrown Boy Scout? He was a bloody Barbie doll. He did what you said, dressed how you liked, and left you alone (all nancy-boy like) when you wanted to play with your other toys. Those weren't relationships, Slayer. Not love, no matter what you told _them_." 

"Spare me. Relationship advice. This is seriously priceless coming from _you_," Buffy interrupted, her voice full of tight outrage as she folded her arms across her chest. 

"I can understand why you want the control, quite honestly. Regardless of what your mates may think, a Slayer's got precious little of it. But why the fear? Why are you so scared?" the vampire mused softly. 

"Now who's the one in love with their voice?" Buffy replied grouchily, her mind blank as she tried to come up with a single good comeback. 

"What could the girl who has single-handedly averted the Apocolypse _how_ many times now possibly fear?" he continued determinedly. 

"So when did you get your doctorate in psychology?" the Slayer bit off in disgust. 

"That's it," Spike snapped his fingers in front of her face, his eyes seeming to brighten as she inadvertantly jumped. "You are afraid of _you_, aren't you, pet? You are afraid that the moment you let yourself go, that the moment good things start to happen, _something_ will go wrong. You are afraid of losing, of falling, of being denied. Hell, you are even afraid of winning, aren't you, luv? But you know what? Love's a struggle. It's the scariest damn risk you can ever take. It's always a risk when there are hearts involved. It's not something you can control and that's why you've managed to muck every single one of your 'relationships', and mind you, I use the term loosely, up. So go on. Date your Boy Scouts and Poofs. Ruin every sodding chance you have at happiness because you are too bloody scared to put your precious heart in danger. Go on. I don't think I care anymore." 

It was almost as if the breath in her body had been seized by some giant demon and sucked out of her. 

But she'd be damned before she let _him_ realise he hurt her. 

"Fine by me. It's a lot easier for me to sleep at night when the neighbourhood evil isn't lusting after me." 

Spike just looked amused. 

"Fine," Buffy tried again, her voice almost desperate as she tried to provoke him. "Let's talk about relationships. Let's talk about your Drusilla." 

"Fire's too hot, Slayer?" the vampire smirked openly as he shook his head. 

"What? Hyprocrite. Can dish it out, but can't take it?" 

Spike cocked his head to the side as he gave a small bow. "I await your worst, milady." 

She closed her eyes for a second as she tried to grab hold of a coherent thought. 

"Let's talk about your obsessive love for a woman who could never love you back..." 

"Which one?" Spike's mouth quirked as he considered her with more than a bit of humour shining in his eyes. 

"Ugh. You are impossible!" 

"Could you be speaking of Cecily? She was the moonlight itself, you know..." 

"I so don't want to hear this." 

"You asked, so shut up. But that was before I was turned so I am not sure if she counts. You're right, though. She _could_ never love me." He seemed to be so far away suddenly, as if he were caught up in another time. 

"She really wasn't *that* beautiful, but there was something about her that enraptured me. Pale, yet dark. The perfect lady. And yet, there was something on the edge of her meticulously manicured facade which seemed to be aching to get out. Passion, I think. It's strange to think she's been dead for a hundred years. In a way, it's like I can almost feel her with me now..." 

"You killed her, didn't you?" Buffy whispered softly, her heart suddenly at her feet. 

"Oh, come _on_. Haven't you heard a word I've said? I _told_ you I loved her." 

"So?" 

The vampire rolled his eyes as he shook his head. 

"Guess that doesn't mean much to you, Slayer. But it sure as hell means a lot to me. No. She died in _childbirth_. And by the bye, since I'm technically dead, that wasn't my fault either." 

The girl leaned against the wall as she tried to hide the sigh of relief which erupted from her body. 

"And Drusilla? Whatever would draw you to Looney Tunes?" she said quickly. 

"Starlight." 

"Yeah?" Buffy prodded, interested despite her best attempts to remain indifferent. 

He cocked a most infuriating grin as he stared at the fluroscent lamp on her mother's desk. "Beautiful in her purely evil way. She's an innocent..." 

"Innocent? Hello. And what dictionary are _you_ using?" 

"She was born in a time so unlike anything you've ever known, Summers. Had anyone ever known of her talents, even her own family, she would have been burned or drowned for being a witch. So she hid it until she doubted her own sanity. But still, she tried to keep her family together. She was the strength that bound them all... in that, she reminds me of you. Her family was her reason for being. And in the end, it cost her everything. 

"Forgive me if I don't cry..." 

His face darkened as he whirled around to face the girl. 

"You bloody well _should_ cry. What they did to her was _outrageous_. Monstrous. She was a little girl cursed with a damning gift and a sense of shame a mile long. She didn't fit in then, and she doesn't fit in now. She will always be just a beautiful lunatic who can't ever see past her own desires. What she truly is will always be trapped, Buffy, until that day she's destroyed. Can't you even feel a bit of compassion for that?" 

"I'm sorry she had a screwed up mortal life, but really, Spike. Who hasn't?" Buffy shrugged her shoulders slightly as she looked at him. 

"But it didn't _break_ you, Slayer. It didn't make you into a bit of fragile, chipped glass that's ready to shatter into a million pieces with the slightest gust of wind. She needs someone to protect her. To love her. To appreciate the magnificent creature she is..." 

"Ooo. And she's evil. Must be a nice bonus..." 

Spike smiled crookedly. "Pure evil, pet. As crazy as she could drive me at times, I love her." 

"Loved?" 

"No, pet. Love. I will always love my Drusilla. But as much as I love her, she could never be mine. And no, she could never love me." 

Buffy laughed suddenly, her tones echoing throughout the room. "So what am I? The consolation prize, buddy? You think that because Dru doesn't want you, I _will_?" 

Spike shook his head slowly, his mouth curved in an answering smile. "That really offends you, doesn't it?" 

"Hello? And you think it shouldn't?" Buffy huffed as she looked around. "Wait. Actually, it would offend me if I actually cared, but since I don't... why don't you just go screw yourself. Or Harmony, though I suspect it may be basically the same thing." She lifted her chin high into the air as she pushed herself away from the wall and started stalking away. 

"You didn't ask me about my Sunshine, Slayer," he said quietly, his tones soft enough to make her pause midstep. 

"I'd give you a quarter to call someone who cares, but I doubt there's anyone out there who would give a damn." 

"You aren't the tiniest bit curious, eh?" his voice held a deep chuckle. 

"Not a bit," Buffy blustered as she turned to face him. 

A smile seemed to play around his lips, but he only nodded in response. 

"Sunshine seems to be the only word to describe her. Bright and full of life. She's everything Drusilla isn't and I love her for it. She'll never love me, though. I find myself hoping that it will be different, but common sense tells me its a lost cause. Shouldn't even bother. Captain Cardboard had the right idea of it all along and you know what, Slayer? That _kills_. That really kills. 

"It seems to be suicide to love her, pet. The whole sunshine/vampire thing usually doesn't mix, you know. But I can't help it. 'Cause somewhere along the line, I fell for her. Hard. And there's no going back, whether we want to or not." 

Buffy shook her head violently as she felt the blood rush up to highlight her cheeks. God, he _can't_ see me blush, she thought in a panic as she spit out the first words at the top of her head. 

"You're a vampire, though. You _can't_ love..." 

"Who in bloody hell told you that brilliant piece of nonsense?" Spike groaned, the exasperation clouding his smooth baritone. 

"It's a fact." 

"Says who?" 

"Every damn book I've read about vampires..." Buffy flung her hair back as she busied herself with her nails. 

"I must have read another version of _Dracula_ and _Interview With A Vampire_." 

A smile slipped onto her face as she cocked her head at the vampire curiously. 

"You've read Anne Rice?" 

Yes. Score one for the Buffster. That _is_ embarrassment on the vamp's face. 

"Oh, shut up. Who hasn't?" 

Buffy took a step closer to the vampire, smirking as she looked up in his face. 

"How _cute_! Tell me, Spike... you wear a cape, too? Turn into bats, wolves, all those nasty little critters?" 

"Bitch." 

"Bastard." 

"Git." 

"Moron." 

She grinned in triumph as she noticed the look of utter impatience on the vampire's face. Spike looked almost ready to tear his hair out. 

Score two for the Buffster. 

Yeah, she thought as she examined him silently. This is the way it should be. This was the way she liked it. Maybe things weren't so beyond repair after all, she thought with a half-smile on her face as she regarded the vampire. That's why she was shocked beyond all hell when Spike lowered his head and brushed a soft, gentle kiss against her lips. 

She stood there, stunned, her hand slapped over her mouth as she stared at the vampire in surprise. Spike only rewarded her with a sheepish smile. 

"You stupid bastard!" Buffy managed to stammer out. "I can't believe you _did_ that!" 

"Did what?" he widened his eyes in feigned innocence as he pushed his hands behind his back. 

She lunged at him, grunting with exertion as her fist made contact with his nose. 

"Bloody hell, Slayer! What's your problem?" he groaned as the blood fell freely from his nose. 

Buffy shuddered in revulsion as the vampire kept his hands behind his back, making no attempt to wipe his face clear of the liquid. Disgusting bastard was probably content to let the blood fall into his mouth, she thought as she watched it bead up on his full lips. 

"Hello? Well, I would say it was the vampire/slayer thing, but honestly, you're just annoying." 

"And you wonder why Soldier Boy ran away," Spike grumbled as he collapsed back into Joyce's chair. His eyes roamed arrogantly over the curves of her body,his mouth pulling into a smirk. "Or it could just be the clothes. It usually helps, pet, to turn the lights on before you dress..." 

Buffy snorted as she rolled her head back. "Please. Fashion advice from the Billy Idol wannabe." 

"This from the woman who pinched my coat," Spike responded as he thrust out a hand. "Speaking of which..." 

The Slayer pulled the duster tightly around her. "Mine now." 

"Oh, come _ON_! That's my bloody coat!" the vampire now looked genuinely pissed. 

"Finders keepers!" Buffy gloated as she smoothed down the lapels. 

"That's so not funny." 

"Well, I thought it was kind of amusing." 

"Well, ha," Spike rolled his eyes as he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'dumb bint'. 

"Oh, go drop dead!" 

"Already did. Didn't like it much so I came back." 

"Oh, you're funny. Forgive me when I don't smile: don't wanna ruin my makeup." 

"Oh, bloody hell. Don't smile then!" 

"Shut up." 

"Make me."   
  
Joyce stood in the doorway as the vampire and the slayer bantered back and forth. 

"They act like an old married couple," she said, her voice trembling with amusement, to her youngest daughter loudly as they both watched on. 

"Kind of reminds me of the time in third grade when Joie Bancroft stole Peter Cunningham's bottle of water and they started fighting..." Dawn offered as she watched the two carefully. 

"You know, Joie and Peter are dating now." 

Joyce nodded slowly as she looked at her daughter's heartbroken face. 

"Things are going to be okay, Dawnie." 

Dawn shrugged as she pulled at the hem of her shirt. 

"Maybe for them, Mom. But not for me."   
  



	11. Chapter Eleven

  
  
  
Chapter 11   
  
  
He tugged self-consciously at the hem of the woolen sweater, frowning as he reluctantly admitted that it wasn't a very flattering fit. The owner must have been a goliath.   
  
Samson chuckled as he smoothed the brown fabric down, pleased at the analogy. Here he was, just an ordinary man on his way to battle a supernatural Goliath. And just like David from the Scriptures, he too would triumphant over the evil. The Hand of the Creator could do no less.   
  
With a careful hand, he joustled his soft, blond locks until they rested upon his forehead in a smart, carefree look. All in all, he was rather pleased with the way the bruises and cuts had fallen upon his features- it had given him an attractive, martyrish look without truly marring his visage. Which was, as any student of the human animal knew, just the combination to lead the masses.   
  
Suddenly, he frowned.   
  
The morning would come within hours and he still had yet to vanquish the Key. He had to do something, and fast, before he lost control of his followers. Well, of those who were destined to follow him.   
  
"Only a few hours before life changes forever," Samson whispered softly as he looked into the mirror, smiling with pleasure as he noticed his noble bearing and proud demeanour. Yes. He had the look of a King.   
  
Smiling blissfully, Samson flicked a finger across the straggles of blond hair which lay across his forehead. A young, handsome king, he thought with a small smile. Proudly, he shook his head as he stepped out of the bathroom and gracefully walked down the oaken stairs. With a slight bow towards the house, the young man stepped into the bustling nighttime world of Sunnydale, anxious to recruit the first members of his court.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
Tara closed her eyes as she felt the soft breeze caress her face, a quiet smile playing upon her lips as she inhaled the fresh scent of the night. The insistent Voices which normally would tickle and tease at the sensitive folds of her ears were uncharacteristically silent and so she took the opportunity to enjoy the solitude with her lover and the librarian as they waited in the solitude of the dark.   
  
The petite red-head stood quietly to her side, her concern almost tangible as her thin arm draped lazily around Tara's waist in a comforting gesture. Quietly they stood next to each other, one unconsciously touching the other as they waited for the arrival of their friend.   
  
"...certain she will be here any moment now," Giles muttered as he nervously polished his glasses.   
  
Tara wrinkled her nose as Willow stood, answering only with a nod.   
  
"Yes. Any moment," Tara echoed uncertainly as she watched Willow's expression.   
  
Willow leaned her head against the taller woman's shoulder as her large brown eyes gazed over the length of the playground.   
  
"Any moment," Willow nodded again, her voice soft and nearly lifeless.   
  
Tara barely stifled a frustrated sigh as she glanced between her two companions. Oh, she fully understood feeling concern over a friend but sometimes, the blonde witch decided, they really took it too far. As much as Willow had assured her that Tara was important, that she was loved, she couldn't help but wonder at times. She knew she was perhaps a bit jealous but what the Scoobies seemed to forget in their rush to help their friend was that sometimes 14 year old girls were just irresponsible. Dawn, she thought as she eyed the lines of worry ingrained on Mr Giles' face, was all in all, just a girl who carried a lot of burden on those thin shoulders. She's going to rebel sometimes and each time the poor girl does, these people flip out.   
  
I do understand some concern, all things given, she thought as she snuggled in closer to Willow. But really, not ever thing that happens will be a crisis, people. Stop looking like we are about to find out the world is going to end.   
  
Mr Giles twitched his nose as he looked down at his watch.   
  
"What time...?" Willow asked quickly, almost jumping at his gesture.   
  
"Forty minutes past," the older man said with a frown.   
  
Willow nodded wordlessly as her face reclaimed the worried look it had abandoned for half a second.   
  
Her patience running low, Tara stretched quietly, rolling her head from side to side as she tried to regain her center of balance. Suddenly, she stopped as a glimmer caught her eye. With a short gasp, she started a short jog to the metal swingset which stood there, its rubber seats swaying slightly in the breeze.   
  
"Tara?" Willow queried, her eyebrows raised as she watched the strange actions of her lover.   
  
Tara shook her head quickly, her eyes tearing up as she examined contents of the black leather purse which lay strewn all over the small mounds of sand. Gently, she picked up the bent driver's license, knowing fully well what her discovery meant but physically unable to utter even a single word. Carefully, she dusted the small card off and raised it gently to her companions.   
  
"Oh, god. Joyce," Giles breathed in horror, his eyes wide with shock. He shook his head quickly as he placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.   
  
"Willow, Tara. I need you two to go to Buffy's house and check on Joyce. Call me on the mobile if you find her. I'll go to the gallery and check if she's there..." he said quickly as he pulled the mobile phone out of his interior breast pocket.   
  
Tara nodded as Willow started pulling her away. Shaking her head quietly, as much as to clear her head as to get rid of the tears which marred her vision, she began jogging alongside her lover.   
  
With a sudden frown, she looked back at the librarian, whose long, slender hands seemed to be shaking even from this distance as they cradled the phone. Why not just call the house? she thought as they hurried away. Mr Giles undoubtedly has a reason, she told herself firmly. He always does.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
Rupert Giles stood silently as he looked at the damnable contraption called a mobile phone as it rang noisely in his hands.   
  
"Tired or wired? Scared or meek? You've reached the Magic Box and our special for the week!" Anya's robotized voice chirped out happily. "This week's special is: extremely useful chicken's feet! Two for a dollar! Use it in a wide variety of potions and spells or give it to that annoying person who has it all and you still have to buy them something *anyway*. Please feel free to come here and spend your money during our business hours, which are 8am-7pm daily. Thank you!"   
  
Giles snorted impatiently at his employee's latest braingem and waited for the requisite beep to sound.   
  
"Xander, Anya. It's quite important. Please pick up the phone," he practically snarled into the handset. He nearly sighed with relief as Xander answered.   
  
"Found them?" the young man asked anxiously, his voice slightly digitalized by the mobile's cheap amplifier.   
  
"No. Xander, I need Anya to stay at the shop and man the phones. And tell her to turn that bloody machine OFF! I need you to go to the art gallery and see if you can find Joyce there. The moment you get there, call me on the mobile and let me know..."   
  
"The whole family can't be AWOL?" Xander asked, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain.   
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact. This is important, Xander. Please leave now. I'll be waiting here at the playground."   
  
"You got it. I'm out of here." Xander answered firmly, his voice no longer containing the uncertainty it had just moments before.   
  
"Thank you," Giles said as he ended the call.   
  
The man looked around the playground, frowning fiercely as a breath of cold, night air brushed against his tired face. Closing his eyes, he exhaled sharply as he kneeled next to the purse in the sand. Exhaling sharply, Giles opened his eyes and began slowly placing all the strewn items back into the black purse, trying to ignore the way his hands kept shaking with each movement.   
  
  
  



	12. Chapter Twelve

  
  
  
Chapter 12   
  
  
"No. Absolutely not!" Joyce commanded sternly, her arms folded across her chest in a manner eerily like both of her daughters, Spike thought.   
  
A part of him was utterly amused at the argument going on, every word of it about him. Three beautiful women arguing about his welfare, he thought as he leaned back happily in Joyce's executive chair. Well, two, he corrected himself slightly unwilling as his eyes fell upon the blonde beauty who seemed not to care a whit about his survival.   
  
Spike frowned and looked down at the floor as he tried not to show the Slayer how much her indifference hurt him.   
  
Once again, I'm beneath her, he thought as he examined his ruined nails. Bloody hell! he groaned to himself as his impatience leapt to the front of his mind. What the hell is wrong with her? What the bloody hell is wrong with *me*?   
  
"Mom, listen. We *have* to leave. This... this psycho will eventually come to the gallery, if he hasn't already. Look, I haven't had time to research him. I don't know what he's about, what he wants, or just how tough he is. I *need* to know what's going on and in all honesty, Mom, I can't do it from here. You _got_ to let me do my job."   
  
"I'm not stopping you from doing your job. But we are *not* going to let Spike sit here and suffer, especially after he nearly _died_ to save your sister's life," Joyce shook her head, her light brown curls flirling with the movement.   
  
"He's already dead, Mom."   
  
"Don't be smart with me, young lady. Spike? You can technically um... exist forever, right?"   
  
"That would be right, Joyce," Spike answered solemnly, hiding his slight smile as he enjoyed the woman's defense.   
  
"And he _still_ almost gave it all up for Dawn. We owe him, Buffy. And we are certainly not going to leave him to die when all his injuries are because of _us_, do you understand?"   
  
Spike glanced suddenly at Dawn, who sat in the corner of the room on the floor, wincing and cringing each time her family brought her involvement in his injuries up. Poor Nibblet, he thought as he waved her over. Guilt's a nasty old bugger.   
  
"Mom..." Buffy interupted, oblivious to the sister who sat quietly in the corner.   
  
"No other words about it, Buffy. This is just the way it goes."   
  
"Mom! You don't under..."   
  
Joyce shook her head as she glared at her eldest.   
  
"No. More. Words."   
  
Buffy groaned as she threw Spike an evil look. "At least stay in this room and away from the door, okay? Make it a _little_ easier on me to protect you? And let me call Giles and see if he knows what the hell is going on..."   
  
"Buffy..." Joyce raised a warning eyebrow.   
  
"Heck. What the heck is going on. Is that okay?"   
  
Joyce smiled slightly as she inclined her head towards the small black phone on her desk.   
  
The Slayer stomped over to the desk and yanked the handset off the cradle, sparing a look of disgust for the proclaimed Hero of the Night. Dialing a number quickly with a forefinger, she glared at the vampire. He winced as he watched the blonde hair float over her shoulder, framing her angelic face in a halo of golden light. Her beauty was so unlike anything he had ever known before and just watching her; watching the way her eyes danced as she saw both her sister and mother safe, the way the gentle smile of relief had usurped the usual frown that marred her lips lately, the way her very soul seemed to shine through the luminscient skin made his heart tighten with emotion.   
  
And suddenly, his heart seemed to jump to his throat. In the matter of a couple years, the girl had become _everything_ to him. Her family, her fears, her very light seemed to encompass his entire life and suddenly, his whole world was thrown upside down. How could he ever fault the Poof for loving her when he had committed the same bloody sin? What would be next? Brooding? Would even he, the vampire who had slayed two... count em, folks... two bloody slayers, be slayed by this one?   
  
Spike laughed out loud, earning strange looks from his companions as he realised that the bint _had_ slayed him. He'd never be a vampire again, chip or no bloody chip. How could he kill now, knowing that the next person he'd touch could be someone else's Nibblet or Joyce? Or a Willow or even a bloody Xander? The dumb bitch had taken what he was and crushed him, like the insignificant git he was. She was right. He _was_ beneath her. Bloody hell, even the Poof put up more of a fight than this.   
  
"Spike? You feeling okay?" Dawn asked cautiously as she stepped closer to him.   
  
He barely restrained himself from snapping out at the girl and instead, just nodded. At least the Nibblet cared what happened to him. She may try to act like her sister, but the girl has a heart. Unlike the bloody Slayer.   
  
"How you feeling? You want anything?"   
  
"Spot of blood wouldn't be too bad, Bitty Bad," Spike sighed, trying to rein in the emotion. The Nibblet, her sharp eyes narrowed as she appraised him, just nodded.   
  
"Hey, Buff. Spike needs blood..."   
  
Buffy just snorted as she looked at the fallen vampire. "He can wait... Hey, Mom," she said suddenly, turning her attention towards her mother. "The line is busy. I'll carry him... Let me just get you guys to the Magic Box. I can keep you safe there. I can't here."   
  
"Spike? Is that okay with you?" Joyce asked quietly as she kneeled next to the chair.   
  
He felt the eyes of all the females on him, and suddenly felt incredibly grateful to any god who was listening that vampires typically don't blush. He didn't know how, but Joyce managed to make him feel even more helpless than he did when he was in that bloody wheelchair.   
  
"I can walk, Joyce," he nearly growled, only to wince at the look on Joyce's face.   
  
"I didn't mean you couldn't... oh, dear. You know what I meant," she said, looking slightly abashed.   
  
Spike nodded slowly as he pushed himself up out of the chair, all of his energy gone as he tried to force his gaze away from the woman he loved.   
  
"Spike?" Buffy asked suddenly, her eyes finally taking in the damage wrought to his long-dead body. She shook her head suddenly as she dialed a number on the phone, but still her eyes seemed unable to move from the large wound above his heart.   
  
"Nothing, Slayer. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Spike mumbled as he tried to through a spot of panache back into his normal strut. "Looks a mite worse than it is."   
  
The Slayer shrugged as she looked away, but not before Spike caught some unknown, uncertain emotion in the woman's eyes. Regret? Fear? Concern? No, Spike told himself firmly. Don't look for something that will never be there. "Undoubtedly. Takes a lot to kill something like you. I should know. Should have killed you a long time ago."   
  
"That's so not cool, Buffy," Dawn piped up, her face pale as she lifted her chin from the shelter of her folded arms. "That really isn't."   
  
"I'm inclined to agree with Dawnie, Buffy. We..."   
  
"...owe the vampire a debt. Fine. Got the point. Lets go... Oh! Giles! You finally answered!" Buffy sighed with relief as she fully turned away from Spike, only to miss the small frown which fleeted over his chiseled features.   
  
"Yes, yes. No. Mom's not missing. She's right here. No, no. Dawn's here too. No. Actually, according to Spike, there's some sort of psychotic moron after us right now. No. Not a demon. Human. Yeah, I know. No. There is enough Faiths in the world right now. I won't kill him. Not sure what the hell... um.. helk I'm going to do, but I'll come up with something. Meet you at the Magic Box. Look, can you bring a couple pints of blood for Spike? He's been injured and we may need his help later. Oh? Um. No, that's okay. We'll deal. Really. It's cool. Okay. See you in a few."   
  
Buffy shook her head suddenly as she hung up the phone.   
  
"Okay, we are meeting them at the shop, see if we can find out who the hell...helk this Samson guy is and how we go about defeating him. Spike?" she called to the vampire, who was currently standing rather unsteadily against the wall.   
  
"Yeah, Slayer?"   
  
"Can you walk? Honest to god, because we _have_ to be fast and if you can't, you got to let me know now."   
  
"Don't you worry, Slayer. I can keep up with you," Spike rolled his eyes as he grabbed onto Dawn's shoulder. The girl nodded and subtly allowed him to lean upon her thin shoulder.   
  
"Good. Let's go," the blonde said as she went to herd her family out of the small room.   
  
"Sounds like a good plan. But what are you going to do about us?" a new voice asked arrogantly.   
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow at the three vampires which blocked the doorway.   
  
"Oh, just great. Tweedle Dee and Dum. Er. And Dumber."   
  
"Guess you'll get that opportunity to play 'Torquemada' after all, Nibblet," Spike sighed as he watched the vampires eye the humans hungrily. Wearily, he raised his bloodied fists as he waited for the fight to begin.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
The bruised man stood on top of the scratched bar of the demon hangout and continued his arrogant spiel. The barkeep, a squirmy little rat of a man named Willy, had long fled to the safety of his backroom as he waited for the inevitable bloodshed to spill across his recently cleaned floors and counters. What a waste of good blood, Willy thought as he peered out of the peephole that was drilled into the wall. He was certain that he could have gotten some decent money for it.   
  
"I call upon you, my demon brothers and sisters... and.. um.. its, to march with me! End this evil that has beleagured this world. March with me. Yes, you may die. In fact, for your sins, you will for the great Creator will not have your scummy souls poisoning the good of this world, but make your deaths mean something!" the man gasped out, his face alight with a terrible pride.   
  
"Man, will you just shut your trap?" a horned demon in the back grumbled as he took a sip of his shirley temple.   
  
"I will but only when you all decide to stand with me!"   
  
Willy winced as he watched the two vampires in the front exchange devious looks.   
  
"Stand? Oh, we'll stand with you. After we drink your blood, that is," the shorter vampire grinned evilly as he slowly approached the counter.   
  
The man seemed completely unfazed by the threat. In fact, he brushed his hands across the front of his duster as he bowed elegantly towards the two vamps.   
  
"If it is what will make you see the light, then please."   
  
The taller vampire, his vacuous eyes widened by the easy meal, nudged his friend in the ribs.   
  
"Me first!"   
  
The shorter one nodded, only to trip his buddy as he tried to approach the bruised man.   
  
"You can be first, Clive... after me," the shorter one shrugged as he grabbed the man and pulled him to the floor. Suddenly, the vampire's hand felt tenderly at his neck as he glared uncertainly at the man who had stabbed him in the throat without seeming to move a muscle.   
  
"Hey!" the taller one protested as he watched his friend's eyes glaze over. "What did you do?"   
  
The man shrugged and pointed.   
  
"I'm not sure. Why don't you take a look?" he asked, his face shining with nearly an unholy delight at the vampire's confusion.   
  
"I don't think so..."   
  
"I do," the man laughed as he jumped to his feet, only to slam a small, feathered needle into Clive's neck.   
  
"You two are now my followers and you will worship me as a King, for that is what I am," the man said softly, his tones carrying throughout the room. "You follow me and do as I say. That's the way it's supposed to be and that's the way it will be. Any infraction upon this natural law and I shall have your lives, or what is left of them. Understood?"   
  
The vampires looked uncertainly at each other, their eyes unable to focus as they slowly nodded.   
  
"King Samson the Great. That is what you shall call me, understand?"   
  
"Yeah, man," the shorter vampire nodded quickly, his eyes finally regaining some semblance of intelligence. "King Samson the Great."   
  
"You shall address me at all times in a formal tongue, as befitting your liege and sire. Understood?" Samson turned to the second vampire as the mists slowly disappated from the vacuous eyes.   
  
"Ye, I understandest thou, o great lord!" Clive answered quietly, his voice full of honour and awe.   
  
"Your names, my most impudent and smelly serfs?"   
  
"Uh, Erwin, your most highest ... um... thou," the shorter one replied, completely oblivious to the transfixed gazes of the demons around him.   
  
"Clive, sire."   
  
Samson nodded regally as he gestured around the room, smiling slightly at the looks of discomfiture he saw upon the demon faces. Oh, their discomfort was only beginning, he thought. "Grab the demons, boys. And be gentle. We've got an army to round up."   
  
  
  



	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter 13 ****

Chapter 13

The vampire stood cockily at the door, his wide grin echoed on the faces of his posse as they examined their soon-to-be snacks.

"So this," the vampire purred, his long dreadlocks flowing with his graceful movement, "is the infamous Slayer. I must admit… I was expecting someone a bit taller…"

Buffy growled as she tied back her hair, her nose wrinkling with annoyance.

"Oh, shaddap," she muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "Puh-leese. Why do they always insist on making the short jokes? I mean, hello! If you are going to insult me, at least be original about it." 

"Man," one of the vampires, a squirmy looking fellow with a prominent underbite, "I've heard about this chick, man. She's like famous or something."

The other vampire nodded dumbly, his mouth literally dripping as saliva as his gaze jumped from human to human. "Dibbs on the virgin."

"Hey!"

"We can't all be as pure as Buffy," Dawn snorted as she leaned against the wall, looking for all intents and purposes completely bored with the situation, though she did quirk a small smile as the protests from her family and friend rang out in response.

"Just joking, Mom."

"You very well _better_ be joking" the older woman said, her voice firm and completely unamused.

The tall vampire shook his head suddenly, almost as if he were trying to exorcise the demons of confusion from his mind. "Um, hello?"

"Mom, tell her not to _do_ that!" Buffy complained uncomfortably as she pulled broke off a nearby leg from a chair and hefted it in her hand. 

The trio of vampires looked at one another, confusion evident in their dead stares. Their confusion, though, mutated into anger as the vampire with the underbite exploded in a storm of dust.

"Dawn, close your eyes," Joyce said hurriedly as she gave Buffy "The Look" as the makeshift stake in Buffy's hand instantly pulled back from the drifting ashes.

"Ooops?"

"Slayer…" Spike growled in warning as he inclined his head to the door, his face startlingly pale. 

The Chosen One nodded as she turned her attention back to the remaining two vampires, only to wince as their hard, cold bodies slammed into her small one, laying her flat upon the floor. 

Her eyes widened in pain as the dreadlocked vampire's strong fists repeatedly beat into her stomach, knocking her very breath from her body. Her mind forcing her to continue the fight even as her lungs struggled for breath, Buffy thrust the piece of wood straight up blindly until she felt it meet resistance. 

"No you don't, baby," the dreadlocked vampire purred, his tone shining with a haughty sort of pride as his hands clenched around the piece of wood aiming for his heart. 

"Pete, you dumbass" the vampire barked out as he continued wrestling with girl for control of the slivered piece. "Hold her down."

Pete nodded dumbly, yellowed saliva dripping from his mouth onto her bared stomach as he straddled the Slayer. Instinctively, she tried to roll over but her tiny body seemed unable to shake either vampire off.

Ignoring the high pitched squeals of her family's panicked voices, she pulled back her strength as she allowed the vampires to hit her repeatedly about her torso and legs. After a moment, crossing mental fingers that she had lulled the two goons into false confidence, she jerked the chair leg sharply up.

Buffy winced as the Dread-i-locks bashed her hands away from his chest, her knuckles seeming to scream with the abuse. At least, she thought as she impaled a body with the dull wood, I got the bastard.

"Spike!" she heard Dawn's voice cry out in horror as she felt something thud to the ground right next to her.

Oh, god, Buffy her eyes immediately focusing on the cold blood which seemed to flow freely over her fingers, Spike. I stabbed Spke. Her head moved wildly from side to side as she tried to look at the fallen vampire, but try as she could, the Slayer couldn't see him past the legs and arms of her attackers.

Buffy would never know where she found the strength, but her weary hands fought their way to the dreadlocked vampire's neck, squeezing and pushing until she gained enough leverage to fling his tall body off of hers.

Her head turned abruptly towards the blond vampire, only to exhale in relief as she saw Dawn at his side, the teen girl attempting to gently pull the piece of wood from the powder white stomach.

Instinctively, she nodded her head slightly at Dawn as she sat up, dislodging the salivating vampire until he skidded roughly to the floor. With hardly a thought in her head, she reached over and pulled the chair leg out from Spike's stomach, forcing herself to ignore his cry of pain even as she thrust the bloody wood directly into Pete's heart.

She peered through the storm of dust, her nose wrinkling as she looked for the last vampire.

"Dread-i-locks?" Buffy asked quickly, her voice intense and hard as she glanced at her mother.

Joyce smiled faintly, her cheeks covered in a vivid blush as she extended her shaking hand towards her daughter.

"Mom?" Buffy asked quietly, her hazel eyes wide as they focused on the sharpened stake in her mother's hand.

"Never thought I'd use that thing," Joyce mumbled, her face paling as she looked down at the piles of ashes on the floor. "But…"

Buffy winced as she slapped a bloody hand against her forehead. "Doh. I told you to keep one here, didn't I? Um. Sorry about the chair…"

"Under the circumstances, I don't think I'll ground y…"

"Buffy! Spike…" Dawn cried out, the tears obvious in her voice.

Her body convulsed with a sudden shudder as the Slayer turned her gaze towards her sister and the vampire the girl held in her arms.

"He looks bad, Buffy," Joyce whispered as she knelt down next to the unconscious vampire.

"Could be worse. He could be his annoying, conscious self," Buffy said, her tone intentionally cruel and callous as she tried to force away the memory of the sick, nauseating way it felt when the makeshift stake had impaled his body. She shook her head roughly as she regarded his still body, as emotion after emotion rampaged through her system.

Buffy blinked back the tears as her sister's palm slapped her face hard.

"He was TRYING to help you, moron. He's had the shit beaten out of him repeatedly tonight but he was still trying to come to your rescue," Dawn whispered, her burning anger nearly tangible in the carefully controlled tone. "How can you be so damn mean? He was trying to help you and you _staked _him…"

Buffy's white fingers probed her reddened cheek gingerly as she stared in shock at the girl whose brown eyes glared accusingly at her.

"Dawn," Joyce cut in abruptly, her gaze noticeably averted from her eldest daughter, "calm down. Just calm down. We will take care of Spike, okay? Right, Buffy?"

She tried to banish the tears from her eyes as she heard the disappointment in her mother's voice … the disappointment in _her_. I didn't mean to hurt him, dammit! a part of her wanted to scream out. It kills me to even look at him like this. I didn't mean… Focus, Buff, she commanded herself as she silently nodded in agreement to her mother. The Slayer inhaled deeply as she scooted over to the fallen vampire's side.

With surprising gentleness, she laid a hand upon his shoulder and rubbed it softly in slow, small circles.

"Spike? Spike?" Buffy called enticingly, her nose already starting to feel swollen from unshed tears as she tried desperately to retain control over her emotions.

"Wha' you bloody wan', Slayer?" the vampire mumbled, his voice fuzzy and unclear as he slowly fought his way back to consciousness.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, lowering her head in the hopes that her long hair would hide the concern she knew would be too visible in her eyes.

"Yeah," Spike sighed as he tried to sit up. His nose wrinkled in either pain or amusement as the Slayer's strong hand pushed him back down. "Cakewalk, Slayer. Jus' gimme a minute to catch my breath."

"We'll be waiting a while, then, considering you don't breathe and all," Buffy smiled softly as she looked the vampire directly in his vivid eyes.

He chuckled weakly as he looked at her, his eyes speaking a million words even as their lips said none. Pure electricity, Buffy thought in amazement as a foreign shyness suddenly washed over her entire body until she found herself looking away.

"He needs blood?" Joyce asked, her soft voice breaking into Buffy's turbulent thoughts with the force of a grenade.

"'Twould be nice," Spike admitted as he closed his eyes. "No worries, though. Looks worse than what it is…"

"Bullshit," Dawn growled suddenly, her face streaked with lines of his blood.

"Dawn…" Joyce sighed, her thoughts obviously not on curse words or punishments as she looked worriedly at the bloodied vampire.

"I think I'd have to agree with Dawn here," Buffy mumbled slowly as she looked towards her sister with a sad, apologetic look. She just sighed as Dawn looked away and ran her hand through the vampire's short, bleached hair. "The faster we get him some blood to help him heal a bit, the happier I will be."


End file.
